



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.! 

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UNITED STATES OP AMERICA.!; 











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PEARL TREVELYAN; 


OFl, 


VIRTUE REAPS ITS OWN REWARD. 


/ 


MRS. RHOBT S. WILLIAMS. 



QUINCY, TI.I..: 

THE WHIG BOOK AND JOB PRINTING HOUSE. 
1876 . 


Entered according to Act of CongrcKH in the year 1^70, hy 
MRS. RHOBY S. WILLIAMS, 

Tn the Office of the Lihrarian of Congress at Washington. 


TO 

MRS. P. W. BUTLER, 

MV HIGHLY ESTEEMED P'RIEND, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY 

Delhi, N. Y., Nov. 26, 1875. 


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PEARL TREVELYAN. 


CHAPTER 1. 

Rare as is true Love, true Friendship is still rarer. 

—LaRochefoucauld. 

The sun was sinking behind the western hills, leaving a web 
of gold interspersed with scarlet and violet hues floating above 
the horizon, tinging the distant tree-tops with a halo of amber 
glory, casting golden shafts of light across the lake, and turn- 
ing the windows of a rural cottage on its banks into magic 
mirrors of brightness. A slight eminence on which the cottage 
was situated sloped down with emerald beauty through an ave- 
nue of elms, tinged with autumnal tints, to its margin, while 
bordering it was a small extent of woodland whose trees dipped 
their coral and amber branches into the sapphire waters be- 
neath, then reared their heads proudly as they stretched far 
away to the foot of the hills to be seen in the distance also tinged 
with sunshine. The winds were abroad, too, for, as they came 
and folded away a snowy curtain from one of the cottage win- 
dows, you could see seated there a young man of prepossessing 
appearance intently engaged in perusing an ancient, musty-look- 
ing volume. His form was of medium size, well-proportioned, 
with a face of exceeding beauty, features regularly outlined, hair 
dark as the raven’s wing brushed carelessly back from a broad 
intellectual brow, and eyes of a dark changing grey. Their ex- 
pif ession was one of child-like innocence, yet portrayed within 
their depths was a thoughtfulness beyond his years. O, Claude! 
type of boyish loveliness, may the innocence which now shines 
forth from your soul never fade out, though years on years of 


6 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


3'our life roll by, temptations throng your pathway and dark 
clouds hover around and obscure the sunlight! 

He reads a few moments longer, but, as the shades of twilight 
fall more thickly round, he lays aside his book, leans far out into 
the gathering shadows and fixes his gaze intently on the wood- 
land path that winds gracefully along the margin of the lake, as 
though watching for some one. Soon a merry laugh breaks 
upon his ear and his eye brightens with a new luster as two 
girlish forms bound merrily up the avenue accompanied by a 
noble, honest-faced, favorite dog, who is amusing them with 
freaks of mischief and his attempts to rid himself of a wreath 
of gay autumn leaves which his fair companions have woven 
and twined around his neck. One of these girls he calls sister 
— the tall, graceful one, with complexion where the lily and the 
rose are exquisitely blended — finely chiselled features; hair like 
burnished, gold which drooped low over her classic brow ; eyes 
of a dark, liquid blue; lips full and pouting, red as cherries, 
which, when parted, revealed a row of teeth which rivalled the 
gem whose name was her own, for they called her Pearl, some- 
times “ Pearlof the Lake,” and all that had ever seen her face 
gazed upon its rare lovbness with delight and admiration, won- 
dering that one so fair should be reared within this rustic vale. 
Her friend possessed something of beauty, though much darker, 
with a glow of health to be discerned through the olive shadow 
on either cheek, hair of chestnut brown, eyes large and express- 
ive, and a haughty curve to the lip which marred the otherwise 
handsome mouth. 

“ O, Claude ! we have had such a delightful time, wandering 
among the forest shadows and sailing on the pretty lake. I 
know you would envy us if you knew how free and happy we 
have been,” said Lottie, as they came bounding into the room. 

“Yes; but he’s always poring over those stupid books. I 
should think you would weary of them sometimes,” exclaimed 
Pearl, petulantly. 

“ But you know they are of great importance to me, or at 
least may prove so in the future. However, it looks so pleas- 
ant out of doors I almost wish I had given up study for a short 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


7 


time and accepted your invitation. But there are other days 
coming,” said Claude, hopefully, as his beautiful eyes brightened. 

“Yes, dear brother,” replied Pearl, a little more gently, as 
though slightly rebuked by his kindness, “ but you forget that 
the cold, dreary winter will soon be with us, and we should 
make the most of these lovely autumn days. 

“ Besides,”’ echoed Lottie, “ you look solitary sitting here by 
yourself It almost banishes my gay spirits when Pearl and I 
come in so many times and find you all alone.” 

“ But interest in m}^ books tends to drive away solitude, and 
I am becoming accustomed to being alone. You know it is 
over two years now since our father died,” — a shade of pain 
crossing his fine features. “With Pearl’s temperament,” he 
continued, “life would indeed become irksome without recrea- 
tion or amusement. I feel that we owe much to your kind at- 
tentions, friend Lottie.” 

“ Yes,” said Pearl, fervently; “ I know not what my life would 
have been without your priceless friendship. Shall we ever be 
parted, I wonder?” 

“ I hope not, dear Pearl, though I often fear, for papa fre- 
quently talks of sending me away to boarding school, though I 
think that will not be for a year or two yet. Do you know. 
Pearl, that I can hardly endure the thought? O, I wish 3"ou 
were m}^ own, dear sister! Then, perhaps, we would not have 
to be parted,” exclaimed Lottie, with much emotion, throwing 
her arms around Pearl’s neck and pressing a kiss on her fore- 
head. 

“ Let us not even think of separation for one brief moment, 
girls. Enjoy the present and let the future take care of itself 
I hope there are yet many happy moments in store for us all,” 
remarked Claude, thoughtfully. 

“ So we truly hope : but it is growing late and I must go 
home,” said Lottie, rising. 

“ Will you not remain with us all night,” urged Pearl and her 
brother in unison. 

“Thanks. Nothing would give me greater pleasure; but I 
promised mama I would return. 


8 


Pearl Trevelyan; o)\ 


“ Then Pearl and I row 3^ou across the lake, unless you 
prefer to walk along the forest path/’ 

“ No, indeed. I should enjoy a sail much better.” 

As they emerged from the cottage the full moon was just 
ascending the twilight heavens, bathing the earth in a flood of 
silvery light, casting sheets of blue here and there along the 
avenue, and scattering pearl-drops of beauty over the rippling 
lake ; a few little stars twinkled forth from their golden thrones 
and were mirrored like diamonds in the waters. 

“ Oh, isn’t this delightful?” exclaimed Pearl. “Just the time 
for a sail on the lake. Please, get the guitar, Claude. Music 
and moonlight go so well together. Don’t you think so, Lottie?” 

“Yes, indeed. The scene would be incomplete without 
music.” 

Accordingly Claude did as requested, and in a few moments 
they were idly rocking in vthe little pink-hued boat Claude had 
made for Pearl, and painted on the side in great white letters, 
the name “ Sea-Shell.” Their voices rung with merriment, echo- 
ing far and near over the rippling waters and through the wood- 
land, as they glided gently on : and with moonlight and fairy-like 
music from the guitar the hour was crowned with happiness. 
Lottie’s home was but a short distance from the other side, a 
large, gre}^, stone structure nearly hidden by trees. So after 
alighting on the shore they walked to the massive gateway, bade 
their friend an aflectionate good night and again turned horhe- 
ward. The}^ did not linger now, but rowed quickly to the little 
boat-house Claude had constructed with his own skillful hands, 
then walked up the avenue and entered the cottage. 

“ Brother,” said Pearl, as they lighted a lamp and sat down 
together, “ it seems to me I should always be happy if I could be 
with Lottie ; she draws my thoughts so eflectually from our one 
great sorrow. When we enter here, you and I alone, it reminds 
me so forcibly of him we have lost that a sadness will steal over 
me. There is an unmistakable gloom over our home. Do you 
not find it so?” 

“Yes, Pearl, dear, in a great measure; but we must trust in 
God. He doeth all things well. He doth not afflict willingly. 


Vh'ttie Rea^s its Ozvn Reward. 


9 


He is our strength, our hope, our sure support through every 
trial and temptation. Hope for better days. Our youth should 
not be thus early blighted. You are still younger than myself. 
Cling to me. I will ever be a friend and brother to you, darling, 
whatever may betide. I have something to say. Perhaps you 
have never thought of it; but do not trust too much in Lottie. 
You know her station is far above ours. Wealth and affluence 
are hers. Time may bring a change. She is not yet old enough 
to fully realize the difference.’’ 

“ But she is so good and noble, it seems impossible. I will 
not think of it. She will ever be the same true friend and sister 
she is now, believe me, Claude.” 

“ I will endeavor to do so ; but true nobility of soul will alone 
keep her from changing toward us. We can never move in the 
same circle of wealth and fashion, and many, many will be 
the temptations that beset her pathway to forsake her old friends. 
I truly hope otherwise; but I have heard our father say that 
true friendship is a rare and precious gem, hardly to be found in 
this cold and selfish world. There, I have made you weep. 
Forgive me! Perhaps my fears are groundless. Let me get 
the Bible and read some of our Savior’s promises ere we retire. 
Perhaps they will give you comfort.” 

After having gone through the accustomed routine of family 
worship, they bade each other good-night and retired to their 
respective apartments, which were both small and cosy, and 
furnished as near alike as possible, with fleecy muslin curtains, 
somewhat faded ingrain carpet, a bed covered with a snowy 
counterpane, a dressing table, small mirror, two chairs and a 
few pictures. The windows of Claude’s apartment opened 
towards the forest, while those of Pearl’s commanded a fair 
view of the lake. She was weary to-night, and in a few brief 
moments was sweetly slumbering upon her snowy couch wrapped 
in the October moonlight. Not so with Claude. Their conver- 
sation had awakened a train of thought in which he felt he must 
indulge ; so he sat down by the window, and, placing his head 
upon his hand, took a retrospective view of the past. He could 
trace their family history far back, although so young. Three 


lO 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


years ago this very month — how well he remembered it — his 
father had summoned him into the little room he called his li- 
brary, at the west end of the house, and told him he had some- 
thing to say of importance. The very words came to Claude 
to-night with remarkable freshness, as he sat alone: 

“ My son, I am an invalid. This disease, sooner or later, will 
take me away. I onty await God’.s own good time, and I feel 
that you must know something of your parents’ past history. 
I was born and reared in wealth and . affluence. There were 
only two children of us, my brother and myself; consequent!}’ 
everything was ours that money could procure; and you know, 
my son, that comprises nearly all this earth affords — luxury at 
home and abroad, society, summer friends, and, lastly, and what 
I prize above everything earthly, knowledge. I liked books, 
and I thirsted for an education. My brother, unlike me, did not 
care for it. My parents gave me the advantages I desired, and 
1 became a physician. I established practice in a neighboring 
town where I met with remarkable success. All glided smoothly 
for about two years. Then my mother died. We deeply 
mourned her loss, for we almost idolized her; but soon after — 
I never shall forget the night, one of the worst of a cold and 
dreary winter — I was called to see a patient about two miles 
away. I felt almost determined not to go. I had only just re- 
turned from a ride, and was weary and jaded out; but I never 
regretted going. For, as I entered the sick room, a short time 
after, I thought I had never seen a face of such extrme beauty, 
a face almost spiritual in its loveliness. The disease proved to 
be fever in its worst form. I felt certain from the first she would 
not live. Something whispered it. But, oh! how faithfully I 
labored to save her life. I dreamed of her night and day and 
put forth my best efforts, but all was of nof avail. She died, and 
that day found me a changed ‘man. I felt I had passed through 
years of experience in those few short days. 

“ Months passed away, yet I could not forget that face. One 
fine day, just as the sun was setting, I wandered to the grave 
beneath the willow where she so sweetly reposed, and where 
the bright flowers were blooming and the myrtle twined its 


Virtue Reaps its Ozvn Rezvard. 


II 


waxen tendrils round the foot of the shining white marble which 
bore her name. I read the inscription over and over. I lin- 
gered awhile beside the grave, and when I arose to depart an 
inexpressible weight of grief burdened my heart. I felt, as I 
had never felt before — weary, weary of life. All the future 
looked a mere blank. As I walked musingly along, directing 
my steps toward the entrance of the cemetery, suddenly I saw 
the figure of a female, robed in deep mourning, slowly approach- 
ing. Her vail was partially thrown back, and as she came near 
and the light fell upon her with more intensity, I thought I should 
have fallen, for there before me was the perfect counterpart of 
her whose resting place I had just visited. The same perfect 
features, the same beautiful eyes and midnight hair, and with 
nearly the same angelic expression. She passed on. I turned 
and watched her with a strange wonderment. Who could it be ? 
She walked on and on along the winding paths till she came to 
the very spot I had left — her grave. There she knelt down and 
I almost fancied I could hear her sobs and moans of agony from 
where I stood. Oh! how I longed to share her grief; but it 
was not my privilege to intrude. So I walked slowly toward 
home wondering who this fair stranger could be. All at once it 
came to my mind that I had heard the deceased had a sister 
traveling with an aunt who was in ill health. This must be that 
sister returned to see all that remained of the one she had loved 
so fondly — a low myrtle-and-flower-leaved grave. I reached 
home like one in a dream. That face again haunted me. I 
could not rest; but fate was truly kind, for, a short time after, 
we met again at the house of the friend where I had first seen 
that face on that memorable night.I was called there to admin- 
ister to a sick child. 

“ She proved to be her sister, as I had conjectured, and learn- 
ing that I was her physician during her last illness, rather for- 
warded our acquaintance by her own modest advances. She 
would sit with me many times weeping and conversing of the 
lovely character of her dead sister, of the many happy moments 
enjoyed in her society, of her desolate life, now an orphan with- 
out brother or sister; while I, in return, would tell her all I 


12 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


knew of her last illness and death, and give her my heart-felt 
sympathy. Thus our acquaintance ripened into intimacy, and 
from intimacy into love, until she had promised to become my 
wife. I never shall forget my father’s wrath — for he was a man 
of strong passions — when I told him of our betrothal. Miss 
Ada Tremain, the belle of the town where I practiced, was the 
one he had singled out for me. She was a beauty, wealthy and 
accomplished, and he said I could as well make a brilliant match 
as to marjy a poor obscure girl like the one I had chosen. I 
told him all he could say would not draw me from my purpose. 
He turned pale with rage, his eyes glared with passion, and, 
pointing to the door, he said, ‘Go! From this day I disinherit 
you forever.’ I never saw my father’s face again. 

“We were married, she and I, and embarked for Europe, 
where we stayed for more than two years, when one day a 
letter was brought me from my brother, stating the news of 
my father’s death. A great railway disaster had occurred, and 
he was among the number killed. We immediately returned 
to America; shortly after which I learned that my father had 
executed his will and bequeathed to my brother all his immense 
wealth. ' He had done so in wrath ; but he was dead now and 
it could not be recalled. I confess I felt very sad and discour- 
aged for a long time, but your birth, which occurred two or 
three years subsequent, again gave me renewed energy. Then 
a few years passed away of uninterrupted happiness to us. And 
now, Claude, I am going to reveal to you that which may cause 
you pain and sorrow; but 3^ou must know it, my son. Pearl is 
not your sister.” 

Claude turned deathly pale as he sat silently listening. It 
seemed that his blood had turned to ice. 

“Would that she were,” his father continued, “for the fear 
of sometime having to give her up to others has been the great 
burden of my life. One morning, before the break of day, 
the door-bell spiteful^ rang, and, supposing it some one who 
wanted my professional assistance, I hurried to the door. Every 
trace of the person, whoever it was, had vanished; but before 
me, wrapped in snowy flannel, and lying in a basket, was the 


Virtue Reaps its Ozvn Reward. 


13 


sweetest little infant — except one — I had ever seen. The lamp- 
light fell upon its alabaster brow; its laughing eyes shone like 
two great round beads, while its little waxen arms were held 
out imploringly towards me. I raised the basket and carried it 
to your mother. We had just lost a sweet little girl, only a few 
da3^s old, and her heart warmed so towards its purity and help- 
lessness that we concluded to give it the home and tender care 
our own would have received, until some one should assert a 
higher claim. We had been deprived of our former nurse a day 
or two before, and the next day I procured another. Therefore, 
no person knows otherwise than that she is our own. No clue 
has ever been obtained. A golden cross, on which was en- 
graven the name “ Pearl,” hung suspended by a chain about her 
neck; and that, with the few clothes she wore, has been care- 
fully preserved, in the rose-wood box, once your mother’s. 
Pearl does not know of this, and believes even now that I am 
her father. I could never tell her, and now, my boy, I leave 
the secret with you to reveal at your pleasure when I am gone ; 
but let me die before her love is lessened, while the name father 
is still upon her lips. 

“ In about one year your mother died. Then dark, oh, how 
dark! were the days that followed. You know Ellen, the nurse, 
the old gardener’s wife.^ She was with us then, and I induced 
her to remain. Thus she became an inmate of our family. I 
lost all courage, all ambition, after your mother’s death. All 
that stimulated me to live was my children. But I do not wish 
to linger over those dark, stormy days. Oh, my son ! may you 
never have to endure in the future what your father has in the 
past! My health began to fail me, and disposing of our village 
residence, we removed to our pleasant cottage home. I then 
employed Anthony Moore, whom Ellen afterwards married, to 
cultivate our small piece of land, and raise fruit and vegetables, 
which we disposed of readily in the neighboring city. This, 
with the small property I had m3^self accumulated, has served 
to maintain us during these few past \^ears. 

“ After mv death, Claude, I think it will be advisable for }"ou 
to continue the same method of subsistence ; and it is my earnest 


14 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


request, that if ever an opportunity offers, you may become a 
physician, and carry out, by the knowledge you gain, that which 
your poor, feeble father has begun ; and your faithful practice of 
its truthful precepts will not only further your own individual 
interests, but become an ally to the further aid and progress of 
humanity.” 

All this sad stor}', every incident narrated by his father, 
passed as plainly through his mind to-night, while he sat en- 
shrouded in the cold, pale rays of moonlight, his dark eyes 
penetrating into the deep recesses of the forest, as though he 
had heard it but yesterday. He thought, too, of his life since 
that time. In about a year his father died, leaving him to battle 
alone with the hardships and disappointments of life. The old 
gardener and his wife were indeed kind friends to them; but 
the noble old woman’s services had been disposed of for a time, 
as Pearl had now attained that age and experience requisite to 
attend to the duties of the household, and the old couple now 
lived in a little house near the lake-shore. 

Claude could not recollect much about his mother, being so 
young when she died; but there was a portrait in the library of 
a very beautiful woman, with features of the Grecian type, dark 
eyes, and dusk}" folds of midnight hair wound in a massive coil 
at the back. It was a picture of his mother, which had been 
painted by an artist during their sojourn in Europe, and pre- 
sented to his father as a token of sincere regard. He had sat 
for hours gazing upon it, more particularlv since his father’s 
death, and wondered what her life had been to those around her. 
One of love and kindness, he thought, for her countenance was 
expressive of a mild and amiable disposition. Oh, if she could 
have been spared! How happv thev might have been! And 
besides, he had no righttlil claim on Pearl. He could hardlv be- 
lieve she was not his sister. It had grown to be a burden to 
him as it was to his father. How could he ever tell her ! Why 
couldn’t the days have gone on and on, and the years, and the 
knowledge never come to him? She was lonelv now, and some- 
times felt almost friendless, since their father died, and this would 
nearly kill her. So he would keep it until some more favorable 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward, 


15 


opportunity offered to reveal the startling truth. Thus his 
thoughts ran. The time had passed away so rapidly, as he sat 
dreaming, that he was startled when the sound of the old clock 
below tolled a late hour, and rising, he sought his couch to pro- 
cure a little sleep before daybreak. 


CHAPTER II. 

When griping Grief the Hearfdoth wound, 

And doleful Dumps the Mind oppress. 

Then Music, with her silver sound. 

With speedy help doth lend redress. 

—Shakespeare. 

It was New Year’s eve. The stately halls of Stan wick Manse, 
Lottie’s home, were ablaze with light. A party of merry sleigh- 
riders > had come down from the city as guests, and Lottie, 
assisted b}' her friend. Pearl, was there to receive them as the}" 
came with rosy cheeks and silvery laughter, into the flood of 
dazzling light which fell from the blazing chandeliers. Numer- 
ous invitations had been issued, and the magniflcent rooms were 
soon sufficiently crowded. But was our friend Claude there? 
Yes: within the crimson-draperied recess of the bay-window 
he sat alone, looking out upon the night and the cold glitter of 
the stars twinkling in the boundless ether: Nothing of the 
scene by which he was surrounded seemed to attract his atten- 
tion. There was a kind of bewildering enchantment about all 
this splendor and gayety, but he was too sad to-night to join in 
their mirth, and he almost wished himself in their own little 
library at home in front of the cheerful, blazing fire. He was 
sure he would be happier there. But if he could sit even here 
in quietness! Oh, dear! He hoped no one would molest him 
for awhile; but he was doomed to disappointment, for just at 


i6 


Pearl Trevelyan; o?% 


that moment Lottie, with a tall, stylish looking girl, entered the 
room, and, crossing over to the piano, the former said: 

“There is Claude Trevelyan, Cecilia, over yonder in the ba}^- 
window. He is so strange and quiet; but you will say he is 
charming, I know. I will go and speak to him.” 

Accordingly, a moment after, Claude was startled by a foot- 
step close beside him, and raising his dark eyes, saw Lottie, 
the embodiment of loveliness. He thought he had never seen 
her look so perfectly bewitching as she stood there before him 
in a dress of soft crimson, which set off her dark beauty to its 
fullest capacity; and she spoke so tenderly and pleadingly, too, 
as she said: 

“ Come, Claude ; I want to present you to Miss Cecilia Colton, 
the handsome city belle. She’s a splendid pianist, and we would 
like you to accompany her on the guitar. Now, do oblige me 
this once,” she added coaxingly, observing his hesitation. 

“ I had much rather be excused. Miss Lottie ; but I suppose 
I shall be obliged to submit, as it would be the next thing to 
impossible to resist you.” 

“ Thank you. You are just as good as I thought you were,” 
and taking his arm she led him triumphantly forth from the cur- 
tained embrasure, presented him to Miss Colton and several 
others who stood near ; then bounded away and soon came trip- 
ping back with the guitar, which with an air of mock courtesy, 
she placed in Claude’s hand. 

After executing a few instrumental pieces, which met with 
applause from the company, there followed a quartette, in which 
Pearl and Lottie participated; and then a solo from Claude, ac- 
companied by the guitar, which commanded the entire attention 
and admiration of all. 

“ What a sweet tenor voice !” was echoed from one to another 
around the room. 

“Yes; and besides, he’s so handsome — perfectly brilliant, 
when he smiles — and with it all, so unassuming,” said one of the 
cit}^ fashionables to Lottie’s mama. “ Permit me to ask who 
that sweet looking young lady is, with the splendid hair and 
eyes, sitting by 3"Our daughter’s side ?” 


17 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 

“ Oh, that is Pearl Trevelyan, the young gentleman’s sister.” 

“ I should hardly have thought it, they are so dissimilar. They 
are friends of your daughter’s, I conclude.^” 

“Yes. School friends.” 

Then the music ceased and other amusements were proposed ; 
after which came refreshments, and, altogether, the evening pro- 
gressed very pleasantly, Claude joining in the general mirth 
with considerable zest, for him, while Pearl’s eyes sparkled with 
joy, and her voice rang with merriment. Claude had not seen 
her so perfectly happy and free from care in many a long month. 

“Pearl, dear, I wish to tell you something. Come out into 
the conservatory with me. The heat is getting oppressive here. 
I want a breath of pure air,” said Lottie, putting her arm around 
Pearl. 

. “Just what I was wishing for. Miss Lottie,” said Claude, who, 
sitting close by, heard the last uttered words, and stepping be- 
tween them, he gallantly escorted the two laughing girls into 
the green retreat. 

The murmuring of the fountain ; the soft perfume of the flow- 
ers, and the gorgeos colors of the tropical plants nestled in 
among the verdant foliage, like great carbuncles, amethysts and 
rubies set in emeralds; the gilded cages, whose little prisoners 
had ceased their gentle warbling till the dawn of morning, all 
served to make this place a perfect Eden of beauty and delight. 

“Lottie, dear, what a charming home you have! It seems 
that nothing is lacking to make it complete. You must be very 
happy amid such lovely surroundings.” 

“Yes, Pearl, I am, in a great measure; but even in a home 
like this . there is not always joy and pleasure. Wealth and 
luxury alone do not bring lasting happiness; — but I was going 
to tell you something ; and, as Claude is with us, I will give him 
my confidence, also. Papa has decided to send me away to 
school next term.” 

Quick as thought a shade of sorrow crossed Pearl’s hitherto 
happy face, and, covering it with her hands, she burst into tears. 
“ Oh, Lottie! Lottie! Then we shall never enjoy such gladsome 
hours again. They are all gone forever. You will be at home 


1 8 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

only during vacations, and I shall scarcely see you. What am 
I to do?” 

Claude turned to soothe her, but Lottie was weeping, too; so 
he walked away by himself, leaving them alone in their grief. 

But had it driven no pang of sorrow to his heart? Ah, yes! 
He thought with regret her words had brought home to him 
the conviction that Lottie, the heiress of all this wealth, the pet 
and pride of this home of pomp and elegance, was even more 
to him than friend. But he would never mention it; no, not 
even to Pearl. He did not know it himself before, and the 
knowledge alarmed him now. How dare he love her — he who 
had nothing but worth and respectability on which to build his 
future ; and these he knew were little, compared with* wealth. 
This he had not and probably should never have. He would 
quell such an absurd passion for one who could never recipro- 
cate it, and it should never take a deeper hold on his heart than 
it had already. There should be more restraint in his manner 
towards her in the future, and she should never even dream of 
the passion she had awakened in his breast. But he must seek 
them. Perhaps, ere this, they had joined the company. Ah, 
no ! There they were by the fountain, and before they saw him 
these words fell upon his ear from the trembling lips of his sister. 

“ Pardon me, Lottie, dear : but I have thought sometimes that 
perhaps this change in your life may cause you, in some manner, 
to forget 3'Our humble friends of Moss Cottage:” and then he 
heard distinctly the words of Lottie, as she fervently replied : 

“No, Pearl: No, never, never. Pearl. I shall always be the 
same to you.” 

How often these words recurred to him in after years, and 
caused him almost to doubt the existence of true friendship. 

“Oh! There he is, now. Pearl,” said Lottie, her face bright- 
ening up as she saw Claude advancing. But his brow was a 
shade paler^ she thought, and there was a pensive sadness on 
his countenance she had never detected before. Could it be that 
her words had caused this change? Oh, no! It was impossible. 
She would put the mere idea of such a thing from her mind. 
He, so noble and dignitied, so far above her — the departure of 


Virtue Reaps its Ozun Reward. 


19 


one so unimportant as herself would not affect him in the least, 
except it might be on his sister’s account. But she could not 
help thinking as he approached, that she wished it might be so. 
He was more to her, and had been from their childhood, than 
any one else she had ever met ; but there had been no exhibition 
on his part of more than ordinary friendship. Accordingly, with 
a sigh ,and an extra effort to appear cheerful, she advanced 
with Pearl to meet Claude, and each taking his arm, walked 
silently back to the drawing-room, respectively engaged in their 
own sad thoughts. 

The evening was nearly spent, and the guests soon began to 
take their leave. Among the first to depart were Claude and 
Pearl. He knew, if they lingered, upon what the conversation 
would naturally turn, and he did not feel prepared for it to-night. 
So making some excuse, he hastened their departure. 

Lottie had noticed the marked coldness of his manner towards 
her during the latter part of the evening, and as she laid her 
head upon her pillow that night she wept bitter tears of regret. 
It was the first real cloud of sorrow that had ever darkened her 
voung life. Her pathway had hitherto been strewn with flow- 
ers and flooded with golden sunlight, like one sunny summer’s 
dav. Ah! she realized the words she had uttered, when Pearl 
spoke of her beautiful home, more than she ever did before: 
“Wealth alone brings not happiness.” They had been uttered 
almost thoughtlessly. She hardly knew what they meant; but 
now, for the first time, truly she felt their power. Why did he 
assume that strange indiflerence? He had never done so before. 
Had she offended him.^^ No; she could not think of a single 
instance. He had hitherto been to her like a friend — sometimes 
she almost fancied like a brother ; but now a “ change had come 
o’er the spirit of her dream,” and occupied with these puzzling 
thoughts, weary and sad at heart, she fell into a troubled slumber. 

The next morning dawned clear and bright. The sun shone 
with dazzling splendor over the snow-incrusted earth, giving to 
the ice-bound lake the aspect of a vast mirror. Claude arose 
early, and after going through the preliminaries of a hasty toilet 
preparatory to commencing the day’s duties, he descended to 


20 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


the neat little kitchen, whose every appointment spoke so plainly 
of Pearl’s handiwork, and, lighting a fire on the hearth, took 
his hat and sauntered slowly down to the gardener’s little home. 
It was something he seldom did so early in the morning, but the 
previous evening’s perplexities had not wholly passed from his 
mind, and he thought perhaps a walk in the bracing atmosphere 
might give him that vigor which a sleepless night had failed to 
bring, and help in a measure to drive away his sadness. Before 
he had proceeded far, however, he found that he had a com- 
panion, for whether welcome or otherwise, old pet Rover was 
on hand, wagging his white-tipped tail and looking up with his 
great, pleading, brown e3^es, as much as to sa}^, “ Can I go ?” 
Claude patted him on the head, gave him a kind word, and 
Rover, with a satisfied air, went bounding and skipping along 
in front of his young friend. 

“ Good morning, Masther Claude. And what has brought ye 
out so early?” said the gardener’s kind voice, as Claude opened 
the door and stepped in without ceremon}^, the dog bounding 
along before him. “Sit up by the cheery fire here. I know 
3^e must be cold. My good woman will be out soon, and sure 
she’ll be glad to see your bright boyish face once more.” 

“ I can linger only a few moments, friend Anthony. I merely 
came out for a little walk, thinking I might feel refreshed. This 
keen, cold air has proved reall}" invigorating. I feel the effect 
of it alread}^; but here is Ellen. Good morning, kind friend. 
How do I find you this freezing weather?” 

“ O, nearly frozen up, to be sure,” she replied, rubbing her 
hands together briskly; “but how is ^^erself and Misthress Pearl?” 

“Quite well, thank ^^ou; only a little fatigued — the natural re- 
sult of last evening’s entertainment.” 

“ Oh, yes. Surely, surely, Masther Claude, yerself and Miss^^ 
Pearl were invited over to the grand party at the Manse. It’s 
rather an uncommon thing, such a pompous affair in this locality. 
Howsumever, I ’spect they’re rich enough to carr}^ it out. Miss 
Lottie is getting near about a young woman, an’ I ’spose they’re 
tr^dng to bring her into society\” 

“ Perhaps }'Ou are right, Ellen ; but pardon me if I ask why 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


21 


you have not been to see us oftener of late? Sister gets very 
lonely sometimes,” said Claude, anxious to change the unpleas- 
ant subject to something more agreeable. 

“ Bless you, dear boy, I have been near sick with the rheu- 
matiz, and have been afraid to venture for fear of taking cold; 
but I am feeling better now — quite strong and hearty again.” 

“ By the way, Masther Claude,” interrupted Anthony, “ I am 
going to take Dobbin and go down to the city to-day, if ye 
have no objections. Have ye any errand ye wish done.^” 

“ Nothing, except to bring the mail and purchase a few gro- 
ceries, of which I will give you a list,” and suiting the action to 
the word, he tore a slip from his memorandum book and noted 
down the articles. Then handing it to the gardener, he bade 
them a kind good morning and started homeward, his faithful 
dog bounding merily along by his side. 

The warm breakfast was steaming on the table when he en- 
tered. The fragrant beverage of coffee filled the air with aro- 
matic vapor ; the house seemed bright and cheerful, and Pearl 
looked happy and contented as she moved about in her neat 
chintz morning dress, preparing their sumptuous meal. At al- 
most any other time all this would have had a cheering effect 
on Claude; but this morning he was sad and dejected, and every- 
thing looked dark and discouraging. He had forgotten for a 
time, we fear, the injunction frequently offered by himself to 
Pearl, to “trust in their Heavenly Father.” 

“Dear brother, you look unhappy this morning. Pray, tell 
me what is the cause. Anything unusual?” 

“No, Pearl. I only feel disheartened. I have been thinking 
during my walk that I shall have to abandon my favorite project 
of becoming a physician. It is true, I have studied a great deal 
and read many of our father’s medicinal works, and although I 
have learned much that will be of value to me, yet they are 
quite ancient, you know, and I should be obliged to study nearly 
if not quite as long with one of our modern physicians as though 
I had never looked within their pages. Our means are limited. 
Therefore I shall have to resign that which I most wish for, 
teach myself submission and struggle through the world with 


22 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


nothing more than an ordinary education. Oh, Pearl! It is 
very hard to bear,” and he turned a’wa}^ to conceal the tears 
that would come in spite^of all his efforts to restrain them. 

“I am very sorry, dear brother; but hope for the best. Trust 
in our loving Saviour. He alone can deliver us from our trouble. 
Y ou remember where He says, ‘ I will be a father to the father- 
less and the widow’s God.’ Do you think He will forsake His 
children? Will He not verify His promise to us?” 

“Thank you, dear sister, for your timely counsel. I fear I 
had indeed forgotten for a time His loving kindness to us during 
all these years. I was looking on the dark side of life; but I 
will try to place m3^self in the light again where I shall enjoy 
His smiles and blessings evermore. What should I do without 
your invaluable counsel and affection. Your love, dear Pearl, 
shall ever be the guiding star to light me through the dark 
vistas of this cold and selfish world, to the haven beyond where 
all is peace and rest.” 

“ I hope, my brother, as bound by a sister’s duty, ever to shed 
that hallowed inffuence around your pathway, which, though 
miles intervene between us, mav still draw you with the golden 
chord of love and virtue from the path of vice and immorality 
to that of duty.” 

Thus the morning meal passed; after which cume family de- 
votion, and the two knelt there, side by side, pleading earnestly 
with words of faith and hope, that Our Father would guide and 
protect them through the dark 3^ears of the future. The sun 
creeping in through the snowy curtains cast a halo of glory 
around their youthful forms, like a blessing sent from God, mak- 
ing a beautiful picture of purity and innocence. 

It was after the dinner hour. Claude was sitting by the win- 
dow, book in hand. Pearl engaged about the household duties, 
and old Rover lying by the fire basking in its warmth, when 
the old gardener drove up on his way from the city, and open- 
ing the door, called out, “Here are the groceries, Masther 
Claude, and a letter for ye in the bargain.” 

“You are very kind. I’m sure. Come in by the fire,” said 
Claude. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 23 

“ No, thank ye. My good woman will be waiting, and I 
must away.” 

Accordingly he was soon on the road to the cottage, Dobbin 
flying at his swiftest speed. 

Claude was rather surprised to receive a letter to-day, and 
besides the hand-writing was strange. Who would have written 
he could not divine, and with expectation, of what, he hardly 
knew- — ^perhaps some bad tidings from a friend^ — he tore it open, 
and, unfolding the sheet he Tead ; 

Fiud enclosed bills to the amount of three hundred dollars. 

From a Friend. 

Not another word did the paper contain, and the moneyed 
messengers flitted down, one by one, from Claude’s hand to the 
carpet at his feet. He was struck dumb with amazement; and 
Pearl, just then coming in from the adjoining apartment, paused 
and gazed with wonder as she saw him stoop and pick them up. 

“ Sister, see what has come to us. Who could have sent it ? 
Is the hand-writing familiar to you?” said our hero, recovering 
himself and placing the note in Pearl’s hand. 

“No, it is not. I have no idea; but God has put it into the 
heart of some kind friend to send it to us. Did I not say He 
would never forsake His children? Let us never again forget 
to put our whole trust in Him.” 

“You are right, sister. He has indeed prompted some kind 
friend, but I can hardly conjecture who, unless it be our uncle, 
father’s brother; and, as there has been no intercourse between 
our families for years, it is very improbable.” 

“Yet I can think of no other source from which it might have 
come. However, I hope this timely gift has helped to disperse 
some of the dark clouds of the morning, has it not?” queried 
Pearl, sympathizingly. 

“ It certainly has, and now I can again entertain hopes of car- 
rying out my favorite designs. I shall study at home the re- 
mainder of the winter, during which time I shall endeavor to 
procure a situation as student with some able physician, perhaps 
our father’s friend and counsellor, Dr. Norton, of the neighbor- 
ing city. Two or three years more of common school educa- 


24 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


tion, Pearl, and then we will hope that something may offer to 
enable you to attend a higher institution of learning.” 

“ Never think of me, brother. Education is far more essen- 
tial in your position. Although I highly appreciate knowledge, 
yet, for your sake, I will cheerfully relinquish every hope of ob- 
taining it.” 

Thus the life of the two passed on, each one striving to lighten 
the other’s burdens by personal sacrifices; each one holding out 
to the other the lamp of faith and hope, to guide them along the 
shadowed life-path, and weaving around their hearts a golden 
glory of love and affection that should never grow dim. 

Claude was happy in the hope of future success, and number- 
less gilded air-castles did he build of coming greatness, and even 
wealth, as he sat in front of the blazing fire in the library, many 
an evening, long after Pearl was slumbering in her cozy little 
nest above. But she was not so happy; for how often the 
thought would come of the lonely hours when Claude would 
be from home. Eveiything looked desolate at the mere imagi- 
nation of it. Then Lottie would be gone, too. It seemed hardly 
endurable; but she would not speak of it to Claude for it would 
mar his happiness, and he seemed so joyous now and so full of 
bright prospects, she would endure it in silence. He should not 
know that aU the pleasure which might have been enjoyed in 
his presence these long winter months, was overshadowed by 
a cloud which his coming absence woijld bring. Anthony and 
EUen should come and dwell in Moss Cottage again. She 
would attend school, but oh! there would be so many hours 
of loneliness without Claude and her favorite Lottie. But her 
trust should be in God, and, perchance, happy days might come 
to her in a way of which she little dreamed. 

So the winter months passed away — on wings, as Pearl 
thought. To Claude they disappeared with slower tread. He 
was anxious to commence his studies, yet he could not say the 
time was devoid of pleasure. Quite the reverse, indeed, for 
when not prevented by the inclemency of the weather, Lottie, 
with her bright smiles and cheering words, would ofteti drop in 
to help while away the hours which passed very pleasantly, 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


25 


filled with profitable conversation. Sometimes Claude read 
aloud in his clear, rich voice, while the girls, intently listening, 
executed, perhaps, some piece of needle-work. Then with his 
guitar and low, passionate voice, he would breathe forth soft, 
sweet, bewildering strains, casting a mystic spell over their 
senses, prompting them sometimes to join in the music. 

But these hours of pleasure were not wholly unmingled with 
pain. There was surely not that freedom of intercourse which 
once existed between Claude and Lottie. His demeanor toward 
her was marked with a coldness and reserve which, though 
slight, made itself manifest, cast a chill over her young heart, 
and repelled the natural freedom of her manner toward him. 
She felt, indeed, that her apprehensions on that New Year’s 
night were not ungrounded. Something must have then oc- 
curred, she knew not what, to occasion this change in one who 
had ever been so true and faithful a friend. It caused many a 
cloud to obscure the sunshine for a time ; but she strove to over- 
come it and appear as formerly in his presence. Still, with aU 
her exertion, this did not evade the quick perceptions of Pearl. 
She realized that there was a link broken somewhere in the 
chain of friendship between Lottie and her brother; but why it 
should be so she was unaware. It caused her many painful mo- 
ments. Certainly Lottie was the same to her, but there was a 
look of grave anxiety which, in moments of repose, would settle 
upon her countenance, showing that all was not happiness 
within. 

Claude alone knew what had occasioned this strange altera- 
tion, and he it was who suflered most ; so he sat hour after hour 
in the presence of her he loved, trying to suppress the passion 
that welled up in his breast, and forever watching himself with 
the strictest care, lest by some word or act he might betray his 
emotion. He experienced a sort of inexplicable delight in her 
society, yet, underneath all, there coursed a current of sad re- 
gret. But the spring-time would soon be here. Perhaps sepa- 
ration, change of scene and new associations would, in a manner, 
bring forgetfulness. He would console himself, at least, with 
such thoughts. 


26 


Pearl Trevelyan; or, 


It was a day in early spring-time when Claude, his heart beat- 
ing high with hope, ascended the huge granite steps in front of 
Dr. Norton’s mansion, and with trembling hand rang the bell. 
A moment passeci, a porter opened the ponderous door and, on 
replying in the affirmative to Claude’s question whether Dr. 
Norton was within, ushered him into the adjoining room to wait 
that gentleman’s entrance. A few moments elapsed ere the 
doctor appeared, which gave Claude time to put forth every 
effort to collect himself and resume his wonted calmness ; but as 
he took in a quick survey of the spacious apartment, which was 
furnished with princely magnificence, his heart sank within him. 
He had never been in the midst of such splendor before, and he 
thougfht how doubtful it was whether a man who reveled in such 
ostensible wealth and luxury as Dr. Norton, would take a poor, 
unpromising boy like him for a student. How could he have 
been so presumptous as to entertain such a thought! Even now 
he would withdraw if he could do so with consistency. But 
there was one thought that comforted him. He had been his 
fathers friend. Perhaps, for that reason, he would pardon 
his rashness and look upon him kindly. He had not seen the 
Doctor for several 3'ears, the latter being absent in Europe at 
the time of his father’s death, and he could scarcely remember 
him ; but a silent pra3^er went up to God for His guidance and 
direction, and in a moment more the doors opened and admitted 
the Doctor. His looks were not of the most prepossessing 
kind, owing to the irregulariU' of his features ; but there was an 
engaging air about him. His form was tall and commanding, 
his countenance jolly, and his e^'es beamed wilh good humor and 
intelligence. He scanned Claude with a curious glance. Then 
with a gleam of recognition he said pleasantl}’: 

“Am I mistaken, or is this Claude TreveNan, the son of m3’ 
old and esteemed friend?” at the same time profiering his hand, 
with which he gave Claude’s a heart3’ shake. 

. “ You are right, sir,” said our hero, reassured b3’ the gentle- 
man’s afi'able manner. “I am the son of that friend, and have 
often heard my dear father speak of 3’ou with great afiection 
and respect.” 


Virtue Reaps its Ozvn Reward, 


27 


“I am glad to see you, my boy. You resemble him so 
strongly that I can almost fancy I am once more in the presence 
of my much loved, early friend,” said the Doctor with emotion, 
as old memories crowded thick and fast upon his mind. “And 
now be seated in this easy chair and tell me of his decease. I 
am anxious to know, for I am sorry to say I was absent at the 
time, in Europe, and only returned a few months since,” he 
continued, drawing a luxurious velvet-cushioned chair towards 
him which Claude accepted, and then, with much feeling, nar- 
rated, as nearly as possible, the circumstances of his father’s 
death and much of the last two years of his life, not omitting the 
request that he should become a physician if it were possible. 

The Doctor listened, much affected, and as the last words fell 
upon his ear, he said : “ And now, my boy, I think I can readily 

divine the errand which has given me the honor and pleasure 
of this visit. You wish to become my student, do you not, and 
by so doing fulfill the earnest wish of your father?” 

“ Y ou have rightly guessed, sir,” said Claude, with tears in 
his eyes, and, a look of anxious inquiry shining from their dark, 
expressive depths. 

“ I can highly appreciate your desire, and it is but natural that 
you should seek to gratify it. Now, I will say to you that I 
shall be most happy to satisfy your ambition, and do all in my 
power to promote the interest of my friend’s only son.” 

“ Thanks, sir, many thanks,” said Claude, his heart going out 
in a silent prayer of thankfulness to God for His kindness. 
“And now, sir, will you please name the terms?” 

“ Reasonably, my boy, reasonably. If you will sometimes 
assist me about the office in performing little duties, you can 
easily meet all expenses. You would like to come right away, 
I suppose?” 

“ Yes, sir, if it will suit your convenience,” replied Claude, 
rising to go, for the sun was low down the sky and the shadows 
beginning to lengthen, telling plainly that the day was almost 
done. 

“ Any time, my boy, will it be a pleasure to have so young 


28 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

and agreeable a companion as yourself in my office,” said the 
Doctor. 

And Claude, unused to such compliments, blushed like a girl, 
and. bidding him a friendly good afternoon, retired. 

No need to tell of the jo}'^ that illuminated their hearts when, 
on Claude’s return, he told Pearl of his good fortune; and that 
night at family devotion their hearts went out in prayer to God 
with more than usual fervor, as they thanked Him for His un- 
utterable love and kindness to them in their orphaned loneliness 
and inexperienced youth. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here; 

Passions of prouder name befriend us less. 

Joy has her tears ; and transport has her Death : 

Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho’ strong, 

Man’s heart at once inspirits, and serenes.” 

—Young. 

It is two weeks later. The old gardener and his wife have 
left their home by the lake to dwell with Pearl, for Claude has 
already begun his medicinal career, and Lottie is attending school 
in L . Pearl often thinks of her, and wonders if she will re- 

turn the same dear, loving girl as when she went away. A 
doubt sometimes steals into her heart, but the words uttered the 
night they stood waiting b}^ the fountain, reverberating through 
the chamber of memory, again reassure her, and she hrmlv be- 
lieves in her fidelity. Lonely, indeed, are the hours, but Pearl 
is trying* to look on the bright side. There is no other alterna- 
tive now to assuage her grief and solitude. These April days 
will soon pass away. Then school will open with its hours of 
study arid its bevy of bright and smiling faces, among whose 
number she hoped to find a friend that would, in some measure. 


Virtue Reaps its Ozvn Reward. \ 29 

compensate for the absence of her loved companion. The old 
gardener and his good wife also treated her like a spoiled child, 
doing everything in their power to promote her happiness, and 
Claude, dear, thoughtful brother that he was, had sent down to 
her from the city a beautiful golden canary in a lovely little wire 
cage‘ “to charm away the hours,” as he expressed it. She had 
hung it in the library close by the red curtained bay-window 
which looked, out over the lake, and every morning on opening 
the door a burst of melody would pour forth to greet her from the 
little feathered songster, bringing joy and gladness to her lone 
heart. She spent most of the time within those sacred precincts 
rendered so by the presence of her sainted mother’s portrait and 
books, and many relics of her beloved father. Besides being 
his favorite apartment, it had also been Claude’s since his fa- 
ther’s death. Here, too, sat the old-fashioned harp, draped in 
silk of faded azure, that was once her mother’s, and whose 
chords had never been awakened save by those fingers now 
mouldering beneath the sod. She had often wished for the 
power to express the various emotions of her heart through the 
medium of music, but shrinking from the touch of so sacred a 
thing as it ever seemed to her, she would restrain herself with 
the hope of one day being able to call forth its thrilling har- 
mony with a master touch, such as that angel mother had in 
those few short sunny days of her married life. Her own little 
boudoir, too, was a charming place, invested with sundry ar- 
ticles of her own workmanship to give it attraction, and here, 
also, were spent many hours, looking out over the surrounding 
landscape, the far-away blue, hazy hills and the limpid lake, now 
being divested of their winter garb to again don that of sunny, 
verdant spring. Altogether, she was happier than she ever 
dared to hope. 

Meanwhile, Claude is passing many an hour of hard study in 
his new home; yet there is some pleasure and recreation con- 
nected with it, for his kind friend, the Doctor, insists on his not ap- 
plying himself too steadily at first — a good mental and physical 
precaution. The Doctor, his wife and three interesting children 
— Bell, Mary and Bertie — comprise the family, and many little 


30 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


offices of kindness do they perform to afford him comfort and 
enjoyment. The only real impediment is the thought of Pearl 
in loneliness at home. She had wept bitter tears on the morn- 
ing of his departure. He observed her struggle to restrain 
them, and then he knew that, through all the long winteR, she 
must have often striven to appear happy when her heart was 
burdened with sadness. Perhaps better da^^s would come by 
and by. He hoped so, and every night before he laid his head 
upon his pillow he prayed so, too. 

The thought of Lottie, also, would often intrude upon his 
moments of leisure. She was being removed still further, day 
by da3% from their humble sphere, by education, and b\" her 
association with those in the temple of learning, man\" of whom, 
in all probability', were her equals in wealth and station. Sur- 
rounded by' all these influences, would she still remember her 
early' friends? Ah! he feared, and dark forbodings disturbed 
his tranquility; but, after all, what did it matter? She was 
nothing — never could be anything to him; y'et he cared, for 
Pearl’s sake. He would soliloquize: Ah, Claude! the words 
that fall from thy' lips may' delude thee, but the heart, that active 
little monitor that beats beneath thy' bosom, can never deceive. 
’Tis a faithful adherent to the shrine of truth, and may' indeed 
thrust many' an arrow of pain and anguish. 

This, his temporary home, possessed many attractions in it- 
self— many sources of amusement of which he readily availed 
himself during his spare moments. The great library of richly' 
bound volumes, the conservatory with its gorgeous tropical 
plants, its fountains and warbling birds, the music room with its 
elaborately-carved, sweet-toned instruments of various kinds, 
and, what he prized above all else, the art gallery' with its fine 
collection of portraits, landscape paintings and elegant statuary 
by the best masters. There was no luxuriant resort of that 
great house to which he did not have free access. 

On an April day of alternate showers and sunshine, when the 
Doctor and his wife had gone out, Claude laid aside his books, 
thinking he would employ his few moments of leisure in the art 
department, which never failed to amuse him. As he wandered 


VirUie Reafs its Own Reward. 


3 ^ 


there alone, one portrait, in range with those of the family, partic- 
ularly, arrested his attention. It was that of a fair young girl — 
a type of the beautiful blonde, with features of rare intellectual 
mould. Hair like sunlight crowned her regal head, and fell 
gracefully in long heavy curls, like coils of gold, over her per- 
fectly formed shoulders and white mist-like drapery. The eyes, 
like dewy spring violets, large and mournful, were veiled with 
dark lashes; the chin was fairly rounded, and the arms, for 
beauty of form, rivalled those of the Venus de Medici. 

But what most attracted the attention of Claude was the look 
of deep sorrow which emanated from the expressive eyes and 
lingered about the sweet mouth. Some blight must have fallen 
over her young life. He thought he had never seen such ex- 
quisite grace, beauty and intellect as were depicted within that 
countenance. Perhaps it was a picture of the artist’s fancy. 
He could hardty conceive the reality of so lovely a being — not 
that his heart was affected, but there was something about it to 
please, to interest, to be studied. Besides, there was a certain 
resemblance to some one he had seen before, he could hardly 
divine who as yet. 

As he stood there rapturously gazing, the door swung back, 
and Bell, the Doctor’s daughter, bounded in wild and child-like, 
exclaiming, “ Oh, here he is, brother Bertie, looking at Grace’s 
picture,” to a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked mischief who came 
bounding gaily along. Then turning to Claude: “Isn’t she 
beautiful.^ She is papa’s ward, and is now away at school in 
L . She will not be home until vacation.” 

Then, indeed, there was an original to this peerless portrait, 
this house was her home and sometime he should meet her. 
The school, also, was the very one Lottie was attending, thought 
Claude. Would they meet, she and this lovely stranger? and 
would they know and love each other? 

“ Oh ! I had almost forgotten,” said Bell, bringing his pleasant 
■thoughts suddenly to a termination; “but I came to seek you 
for that scapegrace cousin of ours, Paul Marshall, is in the 
library, and we want you to get acquainted and entertain him 
until papa comes home. He has just returned from Europe, 


32 


Pearl Trevelyan ; oi% 


where he has been finishing his education. I thought he might 
be sobered down by this time, but I guess he’s the same as ever, 
by the way he took sister Mary up aud hugged and kissed her, 
enough to smother anyone, in spite of all her screams and kicks. 
And he would have done so to me, big 7ne — ;just think — had I 
not ran awa}^, as an excuse, to find you.” 

Claude smiled as he thought that only six golden summers 
had passsd over the flowery pathway of her life, and, taking the 
tiny hands held out towards him so pleadingly, he and the mer- 
ry-hearted children winded their way to the library below. He 
had heard Paul Marshall spoken of as, a handsome, generous, 
fun-loving sort of a fellow, rather wild than otherwise, though 
not given to excess; and the Doctor had expressed the hope 
that education would tend to subdue those few traces of rude- 
ness in his character, and bring him home greatly improved. 
But Claude was not prepared to witness such perfect, Apollo-like 
grace and beauty in one of his own sex as burst upon his view 
when he opened the door: for, standing there where the light 
fell full upon him, Claude took in his whole form at once. He 
was rather tall, admirably proportioned both in form and feature, 
with light brown hair which slightly curled above his broad 
brow; eyes blue, earnest and intelligent, Grecian nose, and a 
finely cut mouth expressive of pride and a certain determined 
will of his own. There was a careless dignity about him as he 
came forward, hand extended, and said, as a smile lit up his 
countenance: 

“ My uncle’s student, I believe. Y ou were mentioned in his 
last letter to me. I am Paul Marshall; you have doubtless 
heard me spoken of ere this.” 

“I have, indeed,” returned Claude, shaking his hand heartily; 
“and I regret to say the Doctor and his wife have gone for a 
drive. They are expected momentarily, however, and will be 
very glad to welcome you back again, no doubt. I have been 
passing a few moments in the art gallery.” 

“ A favorite haunt of mine,” said Paul. “ If you are at leisure 
I would like to visit it again. During my three years’ absence, 
uncle having traveled in that time, he has probably added to his 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


33 


previous fine collection. I am somewhat of an artist myself, and 
have devoted much of my time, while in Europe, to painting.” 

“ I will gladly return thither, Mr. Marshall, for I find the art 
gallery a source of much real pleasure to me;” and together 
they sought the favorite retreat. 

“ Oh, there’s Grace Nellisse, uncle’s ward. I always see her 
sad face first on opening this door. It seems to stand out more 
conspicuous than the others, poor child,” said Paul, as they ap- 
proached the picture, his face assuming an expression of thought- 
fulness rather foreign to his usual nonchalance. “The death of 
her mother seemed to cast a withering blight over her young 
life. Have you ever met her?” 

“I have never had the pleasure. She had left home before I 
commenced my studies,” replied Claude. 

“ Wealth is hers,.beauty and even talent, yet she is not happy,” 
continued Paul. “She is as good as she is beautiful, and seems 
so unconscious of her attractions, which yields an additional 
charm to the many she already possesses. A great home-child, 
too. It was not without a great deal of persuasion from uncle 
that she consented to go away to complete her education. She 
preferred a tutor at home ; — but here I am rattling on about some 
one you never saw. I guess you will thank me to change the 
subject to one of more interest.” 

“ Oh, no. The beauty of her picture, although the original 
is yet a stranger, has already awakened, not only my interest, 
but my sympathy,” returned Claude, as he studied each lovely 
lineament. 

“ Here is one I have not seen,” said Paul, passing on — “ a 
beautiful Italian landscape. What a golden mist the setting sun 
casts over the lake and yonder distant hills !” 

“ It puts me in mind of our own little lake at home,” observed 
Claude. “We have beautiful scenery down that way.” 

“ How would it be for me to spend a few days there, sketch- 
ing?” 

“Capital,” said Claude, with enthusiasm. “I should like so 
much to behold its various beauties on canvass. Moss Lake 
and Glen, we call it, from the vast quantities of beautiful moss 
s 


34 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


that grow thereabouts. It is only a short distance from the city. 
Our home is right near the lake-shore, and you will be gladly 
entertained during your stay.” 

“Thanks. I think I will avail myself of the opportunity on 
some of the coming summer days. Perhaps you will be at 
leisure to accompany me?” 

“ Ah, yes. I dare say I shall hardly be able to remain here 
during all the hot weather. Oh! there’s the Doctor!” he added, 
as his jolly face appeared in the doorway. 

“ Ha, ha ! There’s a face I hardly expected to see when I 
left home. How are you, old boy,” he exclaimed, patting him 
on the shoulder and seizing his hand. 

“ Quite well, I assure you, uncle. A foreign climate has 
greatly improved my health.” 

“ So I am convinced by your rugged appearance. I suppose 
it is unnecessary to introduce Mr. Trevelyan here to you,” he 
continued, laughing, “as you seem to be quite well acquainted 
already. Any one would think you were old friends; at least 
so 1 thought, as I stood for a moment in the entrance before 
Claude’s eye detected my presence; but now let us return be- 
low. Your aunt will be getting impatient.” 

He had scarcely finished speaking when his wife, with eyes 
brimful of joyful tears, came bounding into the room exclaim- 
ing: “Did you think I was going to wait any longer to see my 
boy;” and throwing her arms around his neck she gave Paul a 
hearty kiss. “You haven’t changed much, though, except to 
grow more tall and manly, and, if possible, handsomer,” she 
said, smilingly, stepping back and taking a survey of his person. 

“ Look out, aunt, I fancy I see a bit of green in the eyes of a 
certain person back of you,” said Paul, glancing slyly at his 
uncle and winking at Claude. 

“Yes, my lad}^,” said the Doctor, accepting the joke and 
laughing with a zest, “ I didn’t know before you were such an 
adept at flattery.” 

“ Oh, I have only been taking private lessons of you, and am 
just putting them into practice,” she replied gaily. 

“A very apt scholar. I hope all my pupils will attain such 


Virtue Reaps its Otvn Reward. 


35 


perfection and after all joining in a hearty laugh they sought 
the library. Soon tea was served, and the evening passed rap- 
idly away with stories from Paul of his adventures in a foreign 
land, witty sallies from the Doctor and his wife, and music from 
Paul, who played the harp admirably, accompanied by Claude 
on the guitar. 

Time passed on, nothing of note occurring again until mid- 
summer. The Doctor and his wife were visiting the seaside, 
and Claude and Paul were preparing to go out to Moss Cottage. 
Pearl knew they were coming, and very fortunately, her two 
weeks’ vacation came just at that time. Lottie was coming 
home then, too. Somehow it seemed that all her joy came at one 
time. She had received letters from Lottie frequently, but the 
last ones had chilled her. They did not seem warm and fer- 
vent like Lottie. She had spoken, too, of a dear friend she 
had found there, and she made particular mention of her wealth. 
Pearl strove to think it was only her own fancy, and that Lottie 
herself was the same as ever. Besides, had not Lottie as much 
right to find a friend as she? Sunny-hearted Clara Lawson, 
with her sweet smiles and winning ways, had found a warm 
place in Pearl’s heart. She was mild, gentle, aftectionate and 
lady-like in her demeanor, and clung to Pearl as to a fond sister; 
yet with all this. Pearl could not love her as she did Lottie. 

But who was this young artist Claude was going to bring to 
their humble home. He had finished his education in Europe, 
so the letter ran, and besides, was talented and wealthy. Prob- 
ably he was a high-bred gentleman — a proud and haughty aris- 
tocrat. She would rather, on the whole, he would not come. 
She did not believe she would like him, and his presence would 
restrain their freedom. Such people were always so formal and 
affected! But he did come, in spite of all her hopes that some- 
thing might transpire to keep him at home; and what was her 
surprise to find Paul Marshall scarcely more than- a boy in ap- 
pearance, with manners as free and easy as Claude’s own ; care- 
less, winsome and fascinating in the extreme. 

Claude was delighted at the prospect of spending a season at 
home, and it seemed to him it had never looked so beautiful as 


f 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


36 

on this day of their arrival. Paul Marshall also went into 
ecstasies, declaring that he should have no lack of lovely scenery 
to sketch in such a bewitching little Eden-nook as this, for the 
pure white cottage flecked with amber drops of sunshine, the 
forest with its tall trees and nodding giant plumes, and the lake 
like a sheet of molten silver on whose bosom Pearl’s little boat, 
the Sea-shell, lay idly rocking, did indeed present to the view a 
charming rural picture; and Paul was surprised beyond measure 
when he beheld the exceeding beauty of her face combined with 
such perfect grace and affability of manner. He had heard of 
the “Pearl of the Lake,” but had never once dreamed this 
famed beauty was the sister of unpretending Claude. His heart 
beat strangely, and before he had passed one hour in her pres- 
ence he knew Pearl Trevelyan had produced that effect without 
an effort, which all the belles and beauties of the fashionable 
circle in which he moved, with all their wiles and coquetry, had 
failed to accomplish. Oh, how he envied Claude Trevelyan the 
possession of such a sister and her priceless love! He had seen 
her twine those white arms around Claude’s neck with such 
fervent, child-like affection, as she came bounding down the 
walk in a dress of floating white to meet them on their arrival. 
Could he ever hope to win one so pure and guileless? Thus 
his thoughts ran. But, Paul, there’s many a draught of bitter- 
ness ere the nectar of love is quaffed. 

Lottie came, too, but there was a change, a strange formality 
unknown before, in her manner towards Pearl — something which 
seemed to claim superiority over her early friend. It cut Pearl 
to the heart, and after their first meeting she ran away by her- 
self and wept bitter, bitter tears. 

Claude looked on and saw it all, and could hardly believe he 
was not in a dream. She that he thought so noble, so true, 
changed to the degree perceptible in their first meeting! x\h! 
she was not what he had supposed, what he had sincerelv hoped. 
He had expected to meet her, for Grace had written to the 
Doctor of their vacation, adding that she would not come home, 
but was intending to spend the time with a friend at her countrv 
home, a rural retreat on the banks of a beautiful river. He knew 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


37 


that his sister’s heart had received a wound that would never 
entirely heal, even though no more were inflicted. Her nature 
was very sensitive, and after once receiving neglect it was not 
so easily forgotten. 

Lottie’s conduct had partially removed the web of love which 
obscured his vision, and he was hardly soriw, for his own sake. 
He hoped it might be instrumental in subduing or entirely re- 
moving all that he felt for her. He pondered over it long, and 
finally broached the subject to Pearl one evening as they sat 
alone in the library after the others had retired. 

“Do you not find a slight change in Lottie?” 

Her only reply was a burst of tears. He crossed over and 
placed his hand upon her shining hair as she leaned upon the 
table, her face hidden in the muslin folds of her sleeve. “ Pearl, 
Peal! it will never do thus to indulge your grief You have 
loved her too well ; ^^ou have doted too much on her friendship. 
She was not perfect, as you supposed; but, like many another 
surrounded by wealth and the influences of a fashionable board- 
ing school, prone to be enticed into its charmed circle, into its 
golden meshes, forgetting those outside. Very little strength 
of character does she possess, if, by the first temptation she has 
so far, apparently, yielded. We must not mind it, sister, dear. 
Just let the thought take possession of your mind that she is not, 
what our fancy painted her, a true, noble-hearted girl. If in- 
deed changed so soon. Pearl, she is not worthy of our love. I 
know it is the memory of what she once was, or seemed to be, 
that causes you to grieve; but she had not been tried then. 
Had you thought that change of scene and associates would so 
quickly alter your friend, you would never have given her that 
deep, faithful love of your heart. Confidence in her you trusted 
is destroyed, and it is the disappointment that is so bitter.” 

Pearl had been weeping quietly while he was talking, but 
now she raised her head, and brushing away the tears said sadly: 

“Yes, brother; you indeed speak the true feelings of my 
heart. Memory brings the pain. Although I have spent many 
a happy hour in her society, 3'et now that knowledge only brings 
regret. Had I known less of the power and pleasure of friend- 


38 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


ship, I should never have realized what I have lost ; but the Stan- 
wick family is, and ever has been, haughty and arrogant. I 
might have known that one in so humble a station in life as my- 
self, could never retain the love and friendship of Lottie Stan wick. 
Now pride shall come to my rescue. She shall never know of 
the arrow of pain she sent to my heart when she evinced such 
strange indifference at our first meeting.” 

“Still further,” interrupted Claude, “you know, sister, that . 
God does not look upon such conduct with approval. He is on 
our side, and is ‘a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.’ 
Let us continue to do right, appear unchanged to Lottie if pos- 
sible, and leave the result with God. Let us ask His guidance 
and direction ;” and in the deep recess of the bay-window, where 
the odor of roses and geraniums came fioating in, and the air- 
spirit gently stirred the red curtains, together, once again, they 
knelt before their Heavenly Father; after which, they retired, 
both lighter of heart and happier in mind. 

Never did a brighter morning dawn upon the earth than the 
following, and every eye beamed with joy. Each heart beat 
high with anticipation, for the prospect of such delightful weather 
added unusual hilarity to their otherwise cheerful spirits, as there 
was to be a picnic. They had planned an excursion to a lovely 
grove on a neighboring mountain, and accordingly at an early 
hour, accompanied with suitable refreshments, they started — a 
merry company, comprising the inmates of Moss Cottage and 
Stanwick Manse, beside many in the immediate vicinity, includ- 
ing Pearl’s school-friend, Clara Lawson, who looked fresh and 
pretty in a dress of white muslin, her brown hair drawn back 
from an unusually fair face, and bound with scarlet lillies; while 
Pearl was more bewitching than ever in a robe of mellow pijik 
like the soft-tinted clouds of sunset, her hat swinging in one 
hand, and in the other a basket filled with the rarest fiowers 
of the garden, which old Anthony had culled and presented to 
her that morning. 

Lottie was more gaily, but not so suitably, attired as the 
others, with a gauze-like material of rose color, all bows and 
puffs and fiounces; a hat loaded with fiowers and the richest 


Virtue Reaj>s its Own Reward. 


39 


of ribbons — “the latest style,” she said, and a bouquet of rare 
exotics in her hand from their own luxuriant conservatory. 

Through shady woodland paths they wended their way along 
the banks of a cool and limped stream, where, amid the darkest 
shadows, it formed an angry torrent, which all paused to’ ad- 
mire, then, flecked with foam, dashed along, finding its rest in 
the basin of the lake; thence through meadows green, their 
voices reverberating with merriment at every step, until they 
arrived at the foot of the mountain, where, taking a path which 
wound through a clump of evergreens and along the base of 
dark towering rocks, they reached the beautiful grove. Every- 
thing had been tastefully prepared, Claude and Paul having su- 
perintended the arrangements, and the hours passed happily to 
all concerned. Lottie appeared more like herself, which in- 
creased Pearl’s happiness as well as Claude’s, yet for her sake 
more than his own. Towards him she had never manifested 
such tender regard as now; but he was more determined than 
before to conceal anything that might lead her to believe he es- 
teemed her more than a friend. The thought of winning her 
was more hopeless than ever, for had she not manifested pride J 
Yes: The passion should be forever crushed out of existence 
— be conquered at any cost. And Lottie — she did love Claude 
Trevelyan, and to-day, she thought, just to-day, the last time we 
may meet for months, and out here where we have roamed in 
by-gone summer hours, I will throw ofl' the pride that has begun 
to gain its mastery over my spirit, and bask once more in the 
sunshine of his presence. But Paul Marshall, they say, is rich. 
By the way, I must try to make a favorable impression on him. 
Therefore, when the young artist occasionally came round, with 
an unmindful nod and a merry word, her sweetest smiles were 
bestowed on him; and once when he sat down beside her on a 
mossy mound, at the foot of a sheltering elm, and, taking ofl' his 
broad-brimmed hat — just the thing for rusticating in — began to 
fan her, with now and then a careless compliment and a look 
from his deep, earnest eyes, she thought she had almost gained 
a conquest. But not so: for Paul Marshall, although he had 
been accustomed to the admiration of the opposite sex, and liked 


40 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


it exceedingly, had as true a heart to the real object of his love 
as ever beat beneath a man’s bosom. Every moment spent in 
Pearl’s presence increased his love for her; but she seemed to 
shun him, and his nature was one that would exert every effort 
to appear indifferent, throwing off, apparently, all anxiety with 
that heedless nonchalance so characteristic of him, while away 
down, deep in his heart, rankled a pain as acute as that felt by 
many of a more yielding nature. So Pearl Trevelyan never 
dreamed of his love for her. She knew that her heart beat 
strangely when he spoke to her, and a look from his beautiful 
eyes would thrill her very soul; but when, that day, she saw 
him sitting so cosil}" by Lottie’s side, the knowledge that it was 
love came to her for the first time. Lottie was an heiress, and 
her great wealth, fine manners and grace of person would far out- 
shine her, occupying the humble sphere she did in life ; and be- 
sides, one who had traveled as Paul Marshall had, could not fail 
to see her ignorance of the world, and so no ra}' of hope pene- 
trated her heart. 

But when the sun had gone down behind the mountain, and 
they had started for home, Lottie had laughing^ taken Claude’s 
arm, Clara Lawson and Tom Pendleton walked together, and, 
in short, all had coupled oft'. It was her lot to walk b}" Paul 
Marshall’s side. Oh, how short the way seemed, leaning on his 
arm ! for she could not refuse when it was proft'ered with such a 
bewitching glance; and once, when they were all standing on 
a table-rock viewing the surrounding countr}^ a slight breeze 
bore her jaunty sun-hat down among the shrubs a number of 
feet below, he sprang lightly down the steep declivity, regard- 
less of the sharp stones and cruel briers, returning it to her with 
a scratched and bleeding hand. She thanked him with a trem- 
bling voice as she said: 

“Oh, Mr. Marshall, I am so much obliged; but it was not 
worth such exertion, I assure you. Besides, see how the briers 
have torn your hand.” 

“ That’s of no consequence,” he replied. Then how her heart 
fluttered when he bent down and whispered in his low, winning 
tones: “I would do anything iox you T 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


41 


Oh, what a thrill of happiness permeated her being then. 
Those words to her! He could not be so indiflerent as his 
former appearance had indicated; and they sank deep, and still, 
in after years, when the fountains of memory were stirred, they 
would come up like pearls from its crystal depths to cheer her 
saddened life. 

After their return home a sail on the lake was proposed, and 
a great part of the company remained to participate. The 
moon shone, sifting through the branches above its arrows of 
silver light ; the plash of oars, like the chime of tiny bells, kept 
time to the music of the guitar; the old harp in the library had 
been unveiled for the first time to-night, and Paul Marshall’s 
master fingers struck the chords in harmony with his own soft, 
thrilling voice, which resounded over the shimmering waters, 
altogether making the place seem like an enchanted lake. 

Pearl was happy, for Paul had taken the vacant place by her 
side, and now and then, when there came a soft, sweet strain in 
the music, he would look down at her with his earnest, pene- 
trating glance as though he would read her very soul. She was 
glad the moonlight did not strike her face, for she could feel the 
hot blood mantling her cheek, and her heart beating strange and 
wild. Lottie sat by Claude, too, and now and then a stifled sigh 
escaping her at his indifference, and her proud heart rebelled that 
she had ever allowed herself to condescend so low as to love 
one so much beneath her station; yet while these thoughts 
crossed her mind something seemed to whisper in her secret 
heart : Claude Trevelyan, morally as well as intellectually, is far 
more than your equal, Lottie Stan wick. So that night she 
went home dissatisfied with herself and everybody else, for 
Claude Trevelyan this evening had treated her almost coldly 
and Paul Marshall appeared devoted to Pearl. 

It was a late hour ere the inmates of Moss cottage retired, and 
not before prayer, in which especial thanks were returned for 
their preservation and enjoyment through the day. Paul Mar- 
shall was not accustomed to this religious devotion, but those 
peaceful hours when the brother and sister knelt together in 
holv prayer never left his memory, and afterward their hal- 
6 


42 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


lowed influence went far towards leading him to the Savior. 
The next day was the Sabbath. They all attended the little 
white church about a mile distant from Moss Cottage, and, as 
Pearl took her wonted place in the choir, her rich, thrilling alto 
reaching the flne ear of Paul, he sat breathless, listening like 
one entranced. In sweetness it equaled the flnest he had ever 
heard, transforming her face into one of angelic purity, as she 
raised her eyes heavenward, her whole soul poured forth in the 
sacred song. In the Sabbath school, too, when she listened 
eagerly to every word of the teacher as he expounded the 
Scripture so eloquentl}^ his eyes beamed with admiration; and 
once, when she caught them fastened upon her, she almost fal- 
tered in the answer, and the scarlet blood mantled brow, cheek 
and swan-like neck. This he noticed for the first time, and 
hailed it hopefully as the first slight indication of his power ; but 
the fear that he had perceived her embarrassment caused Pearl 
to assume a still more settled coldness and reserve towards him, 
which puzzled the young artist beyond measure. 

The next day a sadness seemed to pervade the household, for 
on Tuesday the young men were to return to the city. Paul 
spent much of the time sketching, while Claude and Pearl wan- 
dered through the woodland culling wild flowers, talking of 
the past, the present and the future, sharing each other’s hopes, 
and uttering words of counsel and encouragement. The time 
was near at hand when they must be parted again, after hours 
of such excessive happiness, and Claude said, though his voice 
trembled even then : 

“We must not repine, dear sister. Such da3"s will come again 
sometime in the sunny future. How man}^ in this wear^^ world 
have such pleasure entirely barred out from their homes and 
their lives! We must be content though separate. God knows 
best. We must dismiss all such selfish desires and be thankful 
that clouds do sometimes come to make us long for something 
higher to show us the folly of constant worldty enjo}^ment.” 

“Yes, brother, I know it is all right just as it is; but m}^ heart 
will be dreary and lonely sometimes. Those left behind, ^^ou 
know, are alwa3^s the saddest, for the accustomed place of the 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


43 


loved one is vacant, making the house seem almost desolate. 
Anthony and Ellen do everything in their power to promote my 
happiness, and Clara Lawson, with her pleasant, cheerful ways, 
somewhat supplies the place of Lottie, who, I fear, will no more 
be just the same to me. But never again shall I bestow such 
love on another — even on devoted Clara Lawson — until I have 
tried her friendship.” 

“ Allow me to inquire how you propose to do that, dear Pearl” 

“I believe, Claude, the chill winds of adversity will try the 
strength of a friend, and that the time may come when they 
will blow with a still harsher blast over my life than they have 
yet done: For sometimes, Claude, though why I know not, I 
feel a presentiment of coming evil.” 

We can hardly imagine the wild, strange thoughts that pos- 
sessed him then, as she uttered these foreboding words. Would 
the knowledge ever come to him of the existence of her true 
parents.^ If so, he would be in duty bound to reveal the secret 
of her whereabouts. And would they wrest her from him? 
Would she wish to leave the home of her birth to dwell with 
strangers, even though it would be their legal and natural right ? 
Perhaps this was the coming sorrow of her life. But oh! he 
could not reveal it to her now. No, no! Even the thought was 
distressing. He would endure it in silence and let her peaceful 
present continue while it might. 

“You do not speak, brother,” remarked Pearl, noticing his 
abstraction. 

And, suppressing the great agony at his heart with an effort, 
he returned: “ Look on the bright side, sister. You know that 
is my motto. Let no dark forebodings cloud your young life. 

‘ Virtue reaps its own reward.’ Conduct your whole life so as 
to please the Savior and He will take care of the rest, and give , 
you that peace and joy which never faileth.” 

The mystic shades of twilight were creeping over the earth, 
the low, sad notes of a whip-poor-will resounded from the neigh- 
boring wood, a slight breeze rustled through the trees, lightly 
tossing Pearl’s golden hair and wafting the fragrance of south- 
ern wood, heliotrope and geranium around her, until she was 


44 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


perfectly enveloped in a bewildering mist of perfume. She 
was in the garden culling flowers and forming bouquets to till the 
vases in the respective apartments of Paul and Claude. Sud- 
denly from the library window there pealed forth on the balmy 
air the sweet, wailing music of the harp, accompanied by a voice 
of thrilling power, which she recognized at once as Paul Mar- 
shall’s. He was singing a low, sad song, and the last of every 
verse breathed the word “farewell.” He sang it, too, as though 
it came from the inmost depths of his soul. Was it the thought 
of their coming separation that had prompted this song. A 
deep sadness stole over her, and before she was aware she was 
weeping. He had not seen her 3^et, perhaps, as the shrubs par- 
tially concealed her from view ; so waiting till the last notes died 
away in a mournful cadence, she placed the flowers among the 
spears of dewy grass, and, hurr^ang down the avenue, entered 
the Sea-shell and darted over the waters to a little nook shel- 
tered by overhanging boughs, there to dream and weep alone. 
Nobody would molest her here, she thought; nobody would take 
the little path that wound through the bushes to her hiding 
place, and they could not follow her over the water, for the 
other boat had been locked in the boat-house. So she could 
sob to her heart’s content and give vent to the long pent-up feel- 
ings which had longed for an opportunity to burst forth. 

She had been sitting thus for a few moments, the little boat 
rocking idly at her feet, the whip-poor-will’s song still ringing 
over the waters to her ear, the evening stars twinkling in the 
fathomless blue, and the great round moon, like a ball of ^^ellow 
gold, coming up over the mountains. But she heeded not the 
’beaut}^ of the scene, for her face was buried in her hands and 
the hot, scalding tears were chasing each other over her cheeks. 

‘‘Neither did she hear the rustling of the leaves as a strong hand 
parted the interlacing boughs, nor the light footsteps, until a 
voice, soft and sweet as the murmuring waters of the lake, spoke 
her name: “Pearl! Pearl of the Lake indeed, to-night you 
seem to be, sitting here on its moonlit banks in your dress of 
white. How the name becomes you — pure and lovety as the 
gem itself Pardon me, but I saw your dress gleaming through 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


45 


the shrubs in the garden. I saw it flutter down the avenue, 
and then, like a white sea-bird, dart across the lake, and I could 
not refrain from seeking your side, for it is the last time, you re- 
member, little girl. I must bid 3^ou farewell to-morrow.” 

She was looking up now, her great dark eyes shining mourn- 
fully forth from beneath her long, sweeping lashes wet with 
tears. She tried to smile but the attempt was vain, and again 
covering her face with her hands she burst into fresh tears. 

“Oh! tell me, won’t 3mu, why you weep,” he pleaded ten- 
derly, “ and let me be your friend. Is it because of the lonely 
hours you must spend after your brother’s return to the city.^” 

“Yes, oh 3^es,” she whispered. 

“But, may I ask one favor, little girl? Will you not think 
of me sometimes? Tell me, tell me. Pearl, shall I be missed 
when I am gone?” 

“Yes, oh, so very much!” she murmured involuntarily. 

“Thanks, thanks for those cheerings words. I shall never 
forget them, little darling, though years on years roll by; and 
when the summer is gone and the autumn comes once more, I 
shall visit this glen again, and to-night, here by the lake, I 
will bid you a fond farewell. Will you not give me just one 
parting kiss? I should prize it so much.” He added, as he 
noticed her hesitation, “I fear Claude will claim them all to- 
morrow.” 

She reluctantly complied, and entering the little barque, seated 
side by side, they floated slowly homeward. Oh! the intoxi- 
cating joy that filled her heart as they glided though the shin- 
ing path which the moon cast across the water, though the 
shadows lay all around them enhancing its brightness, and Pearl, 
closing her eyes, wished they might float on forever — yes, for- 
ever — she cared not whither, only that this sweet, bewildering 
spell might never be broken, that she might never have to leave 
Paul Marshall’s side, even though the shimmering waters re- 
ceived them into its crystal depths. How sweet, could they but 
sink together into oblivion during this dream of enchantment 
and beauty and love! She felt for the moment that she would 
rather die than part, rather die than live over again the lonely 


46 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

hours to come when he was gone — doubly so that they had met. 

The path was full of light through which they were floating. 
Perhaps it might be emblematical of their future. But just then 
the moon, passing under an inky cloud, enveloped all the earth 
in a dense shadow. A shudder passed through her frame, and 
involuntarily she shrunk closer to Paul. He placed his arm 
around her slight form and passionately kissed her. “ My darl- 
ing, my darling;” that was all he said; but the words burned 
in letters of fire in the chamber of memory through all the years 
of her future, and were never lost in the darkness of the past. 

Soon the Sea-shell grated on the beach, and as they stepped 
lightly ashore the moon broke forth from the black, cloud- 
drapery, casting a halo of golden glory around them like a 
smile of peace breaking through the shadows. A joyful light 
broke over Pearl’s hitherto sad face, and a strange happiness 
beamed from Paul Marshall’s eyes. This bright termination to 
the dream lately shadowed, inspired Pearl with new hope, and 
sauntering listlessly up the avenue, these two, just entering upon 
the morning of love, entered the cottage. 

The adieux next day were spoken with many sighs of regret, 
Anthony and Ellen mingling their tears with those of Pearl, 
and lamenting that Masther Claude was not to make Moss 
Cottage his home any more for so long. 


Virtue Rea^s its Ozim Reward. 


•47 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ In joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? 

Who hath not paused, while Beauty’s pensive eye 
Asked from his Heart the homage of a sigh? 

Who hath not own'd with rapture smitten Irame, 

The power of Grace, the magic of a Name?” 

After their departure Pearl hardly knew how to content her- 
self. Somehow there was a restlessness about her, and a yearn- 
ing for something beyond her grasp. A pair of blue eyes 
haunted her, a sweet, winning voice was ever chiming in her 
ear, and she did not feel as happy as before they came. Ah, 
Pearl Trevelyan! that passion of passions which gives you most 
intoxicating pleasure, yet the acutest pain, has entered your 
girl’s heart, and it will be long, very long, before the old peace 
and freedom will come back to it again. 

Clara Lawson was her almost daily companion. Walking 
home from school together, wandering through the woodland, 
traversing the lake in Pearl’s little skill', and sometimes riding 
horseback, they spent many gladsome hours. 

“ I have been wondering,” said Clara, as they sat together one 
day in the little summer house in the garden, “ what I should 
do without your priceless love and friendship.” 

“But you will not think so long, Clara. Soon you will not 
come for it. I have lost all faith in the latter.” 

Pearl spoke almost unkindly, though unintentionally, and the 
words stung her friend with their bitterness, causing hot tears 
to flow, and her bosom to heave with sobs. 

“Oh, what have I done! Forgive me, Clara, dear Clara,” 
she said pleadingly, sorry that she had been so thoughtless. “ I 
was cruel and unjust, but the change in one who once professed 
and declared as much as you, caused me to forget that there 
ever could be a true and loving heart. I hope you will, indeed, 
esteem my friendship as highly as you do at present. I assure 
you it shall never he known to fail; and should adversity’s chill 


48 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or^ 


winds blow across your life-path, dear Clara, remember my 
hand shall ever be extended to help you.” 

“Those words cheer me, dear Pearl. I believe you will ever 
be true, and this time it shall not be bestowed in vain. You 
will ever find me the same fond and faithful friend, though the 
whole world forsake you.” 

Pearl could scarcely refrain from believing in the fidelity of 
Clara, yet she did not allow, that perfect trust to take possession 
of her heart that once did, for, as she had said to Claude, the 
trial must first come; and why wonder, after the experience she 
had passed through. Little did she dream in what manner that 
trial would come; but they sometimes put on a strange garb. 

“ Oh, there comes Ellen with a pail full of the most delicious 
berries,” said Pearl. “Just look, Clara. Let us go in and have 
a taste;” and dropping their work on the rustic seat beside 
them, they bounded along the well-worn path, through the little 
wicket gate, and entered the kitchen where Ellen, weary and 
exhausted, the certain effects of the heat and her long walk in 
search of the fruit, had sunk into a chair and was fanning her- 
self with her sun-browned shaker. 

“Sure, chile, an’ Pm nearly dead with the heat. Pm sartin it 
will be a good while before I venture so far again after the pesky 
things. They’re not worth the trouble.” 

“You must indeed be weary; but where did you find such a 
nice lot of them?” 

“ Oh, Pm sure I can’t tell ye. I wandered here and there and 
everywhere; I can hardly tell myself. They were scattered, 
and I met such a queer woman. I must tell ye about it. And 
she said such strange things about you. Pearl, too.” 

“ About me, Ellen ?” 

“Yes, about you, chile. I was gathering berries, and she 
came upon me all unawares. No one can tell where she came 
from nor where she went to; for she came like a sperrit, (an 
evil one, I mean), and sbe disappeared like one.” 

“But what did she say? I am getting impatient to know.” 

“ So ye shall, chile. I paid little ’tention to her, but she kept 
mighty close to me all the time, and finally said : ‘ Berries pretty 


Virttie Rea^s its Ozu 72 Reward. 


49 


thick, round here.’ I answered ‘yes,’ and as she went on from 
one thing to another, I replying by ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and picking 
away from the spot fast as I could, when she inquired: ‘You 
are the gardener’s wife, at Moss Cottage, I believe?” I an- 
swered ‘yes,’ shortly, wondering what would come next, for I’d 
no idee before, she knew who I was. ‘ And how does your 
charge, bonnie Pearl, prosper?’ ‘Happy as the da}^ is long,’ I 
replied. ‘ But what do you know about her and Moss Cottage ?’ 
I asked. ‘Know, do you ask me? What do I know? Ah, 
more than I can tell, woman; more than I can tell. Time, the 
great revealer of secrets, may whisper it in your ear some day, 
but until then ask me not, ask me not. You’ll know it soon 
enough for your own happiness and young Claude Trevelyan’s, 
too. I’m thinking. Would that it were blotted forever from my 
own treacherous memory.’ Then pausing a moment and walk- 
ing wildly back and forth, she went on: ‘Woman, woman! 
Do you know what it is to have a great haunting sorrow wear- 
ing away your life, drinking hourly your heart’s blood. Oh! 
Oh! What am I saving? You know not, you know not. But 
if she’s happy, if she’s happy — thank God for that — only there’s 
another — another. Oh, woman! I cannot. My brain seems 
turning wild. I shall go mad. Breathe not one word I have 
spoken to you, I entreat. Adieu;’ and she walked quickly 
away. I stooped to pick a beautiful cluster of berries, and when 
I glanced again she was gone — must have disappeared within 
the forest.” 

• “Oh, Ellen, Ellen! Who is she? What can she mean?” said 
Pearl, her face pale as death, her lips apart and her eyes dilated 
with a strange fear. 

“Nobody but some poor crazy critter who has happened to 
see and remember ye.” 

“ But the secret, Ellen, which, if revealed, would lessen 
Claude’s happiness as well as your own.” 

“ Don’t speak of it, darlint ; and, indade, have’nt I nursed ye 
from yer earlv childhood, and had ye under my own eye day in 
and day out ? Sure, there can be no secret about yer life, honey, 
dear. Set yer mind at rest on that.” 

7 


50 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


But the old woman’s words did not suffice, although they par- 
tially diminished her apprehensions. Yet what the weird wo- 
man had said kept continually ringing in her ears, and a name- 
less dread seemed to possess her, of some impending evil. Yet, 
as Ellen had said, she had watched over her from infancy. 
Surely there could hardly be anything without her knowledge; 
and thus dismissing her unhappy thoughts, as best she could, 
she strove to be light-hearted as before. But this occurrence 
added to her loneliness, and sadly changed our little friend, even 
more than she realized herself 

Clara perceived it and longed to share her confidence ; but the 
peculiar distrust she had of friendship caused her to withhold it 
and share the burden alone, when it might have been greatly 
alleviated by the ready sympathy and aftection of Clara. 

One da}^ in the Indian summer, the two girls, mounted on their 
ponies, were riding slowly along the dusty road past Stanwick 
Manse. The scenery was delightful, and they seemed to be en- 
joying it at their leisure. To the right, spacious fields stretched 
awav inthe distance, threaded here and there with silverv stream- 
lets ; mountains reared their lofty tops beyond, while farther along 
was a dark, extensive forest. The day was extremely warm, 
and a golden haze overspread all like a web of gossamer. The}^ 
rode quite a distance in silence, until a turn brought them to an- 
other narrow and untraveled road which branched ofi' into the 
wood. 

“I am out for exploration and adventure to-day, more than 
anything else,” said Pearl. “ Let’s take this path, Clara.” * 

“ Oh, no,” she exclaimed, in alarm. “ It is the road which 
leads to that old haunted house.” 

“Capital, capital!” said our heroine. “I have heard much 
about it, but have never passed or visited it, and now is just the 
time. Come, Clara,” and giving the horse a sharp cut with 
the riding-whip she was soon within the mazes of the forest, her 
friend following reluctantly. 

A terrific torrent roared and dashed and foamed within its 
shadowy recess, and on a mossy seat, close where it lashed in 
maddest fury, lay a blood-red scarf, trailing its scarlet length 


Virtue Rea^s its Ozvn Reward. 


51 


down over the carpet of dead leaves and vines. The two girls 
started, looked inquiringly at each other, and then around 
through the dense shadows as though expecting to see a human 
form. Clara turned pale as death and was the first to break the 
silence. 

“Oh, Pearl, what does it mean? Let’s get out into the light, 
quickly. This is such a dark, wierd place, and the roar of the 
angry waters strikes me with horror. I cannot endure it.” 

“Hush, Clara dear. Do not be alarmed. Though slightly 
startling, this little spice of mystery only fires me with a greater 
desire to press forward. Some one probably occupies the 
haunted house; but we must hasten,” and starting their horses 
into a gallop they soon left the forest behind, and, passing down 
a rough and steep descent, followed a curve in the road which 
wound round a slight eminence and along the margin of a deep 
ravine, and came at once in full view of the haunted house, situ- 
ated in a wild, deserted looking hollow below them. Giant 
trees towered gloomily above the dingy structure, almost hiding 
it from sight, and the massive iron gate hung neglectfully on one 
rusty hinge. To the left was a continuation of the woodland 
stream, which rushed on like an angry demon; while on the 
north side was what might once have been a garden, now filled 
with tangled weeds and briers. In short, everything was greatly 
dilapidated and in strict conformity with the loneliness of the 
place. 

During their ride through the forest, and the close attention 
they were obliged to pay to the rugged path they were pursu- 
ing in order to pass securely, they had not perceived the inky 
cloud that had risen in the west and was now ready to burst 
upon them, until great, round drops began to fall, and. the 
rumbling of distant thunder was heard, when Clara, the per- 
fect picture of fear, stopped her horse and exclaimed: 

“Oh, Pearl! what shall we do? Let’s go back and find 
shelter in the forest. There is going to be a dreadful shower.” 

“That would be folly, Clara. There is great danger from 
lightning in such a place as that, and I propose that we seek 
refuge here in this old house. It may not be inhabited, and 


52 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

should it be they can not refuse the protection of their roof for 
so short a time.” 

Clara did not like the idea, for she was very timid, but she 
saw no other way, and passing through the gateway and along 
the neglected path, the great, black, staring exterior of the 
gloomy old building boldly confronted them. No vsigns of in- 
habitants were visible, except that in the west wing one of the 
uppermost windows, which opened on a balcony, was raised, 
and a torn purple curtain fluttered out upon the wind. The 
shutters of the other windows were closed. 

“ Oh, dear,” said Clara, impatiently, “ I shall be glad if we 
ever get back home again. Everything is dark and horrible 
here. Who ever heard of a purple curtain an}^ where else? 
No wonder they call it the haunted house. I should call the 
whole place haunted as well.” 

“Tut, tut, Clara! This just suits me, if we get into no worse 
trouble,” said Pearl, though a trifle pale in spite of her bravery. 
“I rather think this house contains inmates. However, we will 
enter and explore.” 

The rain was falling in torrents now, the thunder boomed 
alarmingly near, and the lightning played fearfully. They 
reigned their horses under a low shed in the rear and, dismount- 
ing, gathered up their habits, and, arm in arm, ascended the 
old rickety steps which appeared to be the main entrance to 
the building. They found themselves in a broad, mildewed hall 
entirely vacant, and which echoed every footstep, making a 
sound like the tread of human feet above. Clara faltered, but 
a word of encouragement from Pearl proved all that was ne- 
cessary; and so the}^ passed on from room to room, each damp, 
desolate and covered with mould, until they had explored the 
east wing as well as the whole central part of the house. 

The roar of the elements without, the dash of the maddened 
waters, the clattering of the crazy old windows and loose clap- 
boards, mingled with their echoing tread, did indeed make the 
dismal old structure appear like the habitation of shrieking 
demons. The two girls were pale and trembling with fear, but 
they passed silently on, not daring to pause and think in the 


Virtue Reaps its Ozl'h Reward. 


53 


midst of this wild tumult; each praying in her secret heart that 
God would have mercy and spare them to return to their friends 
once more. 

“I guess we need entertain no fears of finding an^^one here,” 
said Pearl, her voice scarcely heard above the clashing storm- 
artillery outside ; but a moment later she was ready to recall her 
words, for on swinging back a ponderous door, creaking on its 
hinges, which led through a hall to the west wing, what was 
their surprise to find, placed in order against the wall, an old 
table and two high-backed chairs. They looked at each other 
in wonder, but neither spoke, and opening a door to the right 
they entered an apartment scantily furnished, with two or three 
weird pictures, suspended from the ceiling; and on the farther 
side, where the light struck it most forcible, a full-length por- 
trait of a handsome young man about twenty-five years of age, 
with fine features, hair of a shining gold color, eyes large and 
dark, and mouth expressive of firmness and decision. There 
was something about the picture which seemed to draw Pearl 
with an irresistible fascination. She stood gazing long and 
fixedly upon it, when, at last, Clara broke the spell with the 
inquiry : 

“ Do you remember ever seeing anyone who resembles this 
picture ?” 

“Not to my knowledge,” said Pearl. 

“ Do you wish me to tell you in whom I see a marked simi- 
larity?” queried Clara, again. 

“ Most assuredly, if you have any idea.” 

“Your own, dear self, before me. The same golden hair, the 
same eyes in color and expression, the same beautiful brow. 
Who can he be that looks so like my darling friend?” exclaimed 
Clara, with enthusiasm. 

“You startle me. Are you not mistaken?” queried Pearl, her 
eyes still fixed upon it with a strange attraction. 

“No, no: I am certain. It is a problem unsolved, yet, nev- 
ertheless, true. But come: let us seek further. This looks a 
little more like civilization,” continued Clara, gaining courage. 


54 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


and clasping her arm around Pearl, drew or almost forced her 
away from the picture. 

Leaving this room they passed along the hall, and, opening a 
door on the left, entered another apartment like the last, con- 
taining but a few articles of furniture, but high, damp and ghost- 
like in its appearance. 

“ I think we had better venture no farther,” said Pearl. “ It 
is plain this house is inhabited, and we will return the way we 
come, and wait patiently iu the east wing until the shower is 
over. It seems to be abating now, I think.” 

But as they turned, each intent on making her egress first, in 
the doorway, staring at them with wild, dilated e3’es, face thin 
and ash}^ pale, framed in with hair black as midnight, stood a 
woman. Clara shrieked in alarm, while Pearl bareL sup- 
pressed a startled cry. 

“Good heavens! \^oung ladies,” said the woman, “what has 
brought \^ou to my miserable abode? And is it an apparition? 
or are \^ou, indeed. Pearl TreveLan?” she continued, confronting 
her almost fiercely. “But whv do I ask? I cannot be mis- 
taken. Oh, why did 30U come? Did the\^ send you to haunt 
me with that face? those eves so like — so like! Oh, Merciful 
HeaV' en !” and sinking into a chair the wqman covered her face 
with her hands and rocked wildlv to and fro. 

“Good woman,” said Pearl, almost frightened out of her 
senses bv this strange occurrence, and almost believing the wo- 
man to be demented, “ we came hither to seek refuge from the 
storm, supposing this place uninhabited. I hope 3^ou will be so 
kind as to pardon our intrusion.” 

“ Y es, yes,” she replied, quickL ; “ \^es, \^es. Be seated. Y ou 
are welcome to a shelter; but 3’our presence awakened painful 
memories that had long slumbered. I thought the old wounds 
were healed, but no, no. My heart is bleeding again — broken, 
crushed.” 

Just then a rustle was heard— a step on the threshold — and 
before them, like the spirit of the storm, rose a form dark and 
weird, with wild, disheveled hair, dripping with rain and strag- 
gling over the dark stuft' of her dress, a red scarf wound 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Rezuard. 


55 


about her person and trailing after her like a stream of blood. 
The two girls looked at each other, remembering at once the 
scarf on the moss}^ seat in the forest, and they came to the di- 
rect conclusion that this strange, young creature must have been 
the owner. Their thoughts ran, they hardly knew in what 
channel, but Clara began to think she had got into a nest of 
demons, while Pearl heartily wished she was safe again in Moss 
Cottage. 

The old woman was the first to speak, and her wild, almost 
inhuman expression, softened almost to one of tenderness as she 
turned and gazed upon her child. 

“Where have you been. Night, through all this raging 
storm ?” 

“Walking in the forest, and then as its fury grew less, coming 
homeward.” 

“But did you not notice the dark cloud in the west?” 

“Yes, 3^es. But I wanted to see it lighten once in the woods, 
and I did — oh, I did,” she said, clapping her hands in wild glee; 
“ and it played so pretty among the trees, like fiery forks and 
chains; and once it splintered a great oak to the ver}" roots, 
and what a crash came after! Ha, ha! It was grand;” and 
with her voice ringing and echoing through the loft\" corridors, 
she bounded away nimble as a fawn, leaving the mother look- 
ing after her with a look of mingled pride and affection. She 
seemed to have forgotten herself for a moment in the presence 
of her child, but as she turned again into the room the same 
bitter, despairing, almost fearful expression, came into her beady 
e}'es, and again sinking into a chair she resumed her rocking 
to and fro, and murmuring, as though to herself: “So many, 
man}^ long 3^ears ago! Oh, oh! Cruel, cruel! Go awa3^, 
haunting face. Wh3^ will 3’ou torment me? Have not all these 
hours of misery atoned?” And the two girls, breathlessh^ and 
on tip-toe, left the room hurriedly, returning to the open air and, 
finding the sunshine once more taking the place of the storm- 
clouds, they mounted their horses and hastened homeward, leav- 
ing the strange old house and its stranger inmates far in the 
distance. 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


5 ^ 


“ But haven’t we had a curious adventure, Pearl, dear,” said 
Clara, as they emerged from the forest? 

“Yes. And do you know I believe she is the very same wo- 
man Ellen met when she was gathering berries?” 

“No doubt. I believe so myself.” 

“But what did she mean when she spoke of my eyes and 
face? Do I remind her of any one, I wonder? She almost said 
as much; and how came that beautiful picture in that dark old 
house? Isn’t it all a dreadful myster}^? Were it not for that I 
should believe the woman demented. You spoke of my resem- 
blance to the portrait. Oh, it frightens me; and yet how can 
I be connected in any way with one like her. It makes me 
shudder.” 

“ Surely, Pearl, such a thing is impossible. Besides, as Ellen 
said, 3"ou have been under her care from infancy.” 

“ I am sure, I hope and pray not. But my fears are not all 
banished yet. What a daring, reckless creature that girl is, 
with her bold, gips}^ face and staring black eyes, so like her 
mother’s. She had on the identical scarf we saw on the moss}" 
seat by the waterfall in the forest. She must have been wander- 
ing in some remote part.” 

“ Most likely near the margin, as she saw the rising storm- 
cloud, she said,” returned Clara. 

“ Do you know, Clara, I think there is a faint tinge of refine- 
ment lingering in the woman’s nature, as though she had once 
been among civilized people. Particularly when she spoke to 
her child there seemed to be a softening in her manner, as 
though she were not wholl}" devoid of aftection, at least. I can 
hardly believe she has always lived in this heathenish fashion.” 

“ I agree with 3^ou, Pearl ; but her words as well as her man- 
ner indicate that she has sometime passed through deep sorrow, 
and, by what she uttered last, I think she has committed some 
atrocious sin, which seems to be cankering her very life.” 

“There comes the Stanwick carriage,” said Pearl, as they 
turned a curve in the road and saw it approaching. “ Who can 
those two young ladies be, dressed so gaily in plumes and 
ribbons?” 


Virtue Reaj)s its Own Reward. 


57 


“Why, don’t you recognize your friend Lottie?” said Clara, 
in surprise. “ I am surely not mistaken. It is probably vaca- 
tion and she is home with some friend.” 

“Oh, yes. It is she, I see, as they come nearer. I did not 
think of its being vacation.” But her heart beat high with 
pleasure as she saw her familiar face once more, and she was 
preparing for a friendly salutation as they passed, when Lottie, 
slightly bending forward, inclined her head with a haughty bow. 
The act sped like an arrow of pain to the heart of Pearl, a 
great sob choked her, and it was only with a mighty effort that 
she succeeded in controlling her emotion. But Clara, dear, 
kind Clara, came to her rescue, as she ever did, with her ready 
sympathy, saying, as she reined her horse to the side of Pearl’s, 
“ I would not mind her coldness, dear friend. It was plainly per- 
ceptible to me, but such silly pride is unworthy of regard. Try 
and never cast upon it one passing thought. Did you notice 
the young lady by her side ? I could not help observing • the 
amiable expression of her countenance and the gentility of her 
whole appearance.” 

“No, not particularly,” replied Pearl, sadly. “Who can she 
be? Some school friend, probably.” 

But as she rode on a deep sadness stole over her. She had 
almost forgotten their late adventure at the haunted house, and 
was thinking only of Lottie. Now, indeed, she was without a 
doubt of her pride and her intention to erect a barrier between 
them whose bounds she could not pass. Oh, it was singularly 
cruel that one who professed such undying friendship could ever 
so alter — could so soon forget the hours they had spent together 
— their many confidential talks, the nights they had slept in each 
other’s arms at Stanwick Manse, as well as in Pearl’s own little 
boudoir at Moss Cottage. Did the great bell of memory, ring- 
ing forever through the chambers of her heart, never find an 
echo within Lottie’s own? But no. They were sadly estranged 
from each other, and never, never would the bond of friendship 
and love unite them again ; and that night, when she sought her 
own room, with none but God and the pitying stars to look 
down upon her, she knelt and poured out her full heart to Him 
8 


58 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


who hath said: “ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden and I will give you rest.” Had there been a listening ear 
to hear that prayer, these words, simple, yet the most beautiful 
of all, would have greeted it as she murmured: “Oh, Father, 
help me, I implore Thee, to endure with patience this trial, and 
to cultivate a kindly feeling toward Lottie ; to return love for 
hate and "pity for. scorn, and when at last it is ours to die, may 
the broken chain of friendship and love be relinked in that home 
of the blest where alFare equal in wealth and station.” Then 
throwing herself on the snowy couch she was soon sleeping 
sweetly and enjoying the blissful repose, both in body and mind, 
of the true Christian. 

But we will return to the Stanwick carriage and its occupants, 
and just take a look at Lottie’s companion as she reclines with 
a careless grace among the luxurious cushions, seeming now 
in a thoughtful mood. But have we not seen that face before.^ 
for, as we gaze, we find it no other than the original of the por- 
trait jn* the art gallery of Dr. Norton’s elegant mansion, Grace 
Nellisse, now on her way home from school crowned with the 
honors of a graduate, and_gratifying the entreaties of her friend 
Lottie to ^stop a^day or two with her ere returning to the city. 
She noticed the extreme hauteur of Lottie’s bow, and a shadow 
of pain crossed her fine features as she inquired: 

“ Who was that sweet looking young lady nearest the car- 
riage ?” 

“Oh, that was Pearl Trevelyan, and the other her friend, 
Clara Lawson. She lives in a little out of the way cottage, 
across the lake.” 

“Trevelyan? Trevelyan, did you say? Why that is the 
name of the young man stud3fing with uncle, as he wrote me — 
Claude Trevetyan.” 

The hot blood rushed to Lottie’s face, then receded, leaving it 
pale and cold. The mention of that name, when least expected, 
awakened unpleasant memories and created within her strong 
emotions, for, although proud, she could not forget him, try as 
she might. But his poverty banished all thought of anything 
farther, and so controlling herself with an efibrt she said: 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


59 

“Yes. I believe her brother is in the city studying, but I’d 
no idea he was with your uncle.” 

“Yes, indeed; and he always speaks very highly of his stu- 
dent in his letters, as a very refined and talented young man. 
His sister is very beautiful, at any rate, and her bearing is that 
of a lady.” 

“They are refined and intelligent as most common people, 
but are very poor, possessing little more than a home, and the 
girl has only received a common school education.” 

“ I do not consider poverty any disgrace.” 

“No: not wholly a disgrace, yet you must understand that 
such people can not expect to move in the societ}^ of wealth and 
fashion.” 

“I do not agree with you there. I know very many of the 
world’s people get that foolish idea in their heads, but ‘worth 
and respectability’ is my motto. Have they those, they are 
worthy the society of kings and princes. People who hold 
that opinion have not the true principle of Christianity which 
God designed they should have, and I, for one, shall not be in- 
fluenced by such vanity and arrogance. Those who move 
within the fashionable world, who possess both wealth and in- 
fluence, are the ones,, I believe, who should commence a reform 
and set a noble example before those weak-brained ones who 
consider outside show of greater importance than their soul’s 
salvation. For, if they persist in their wicked course, they will 
most assured!}^ be lost, and then what would they not give to 
return to this earth and live a life of the deepest humility, could 
they but regain that lost privilege. If I am scorned for treating 
the poor and humble of this earth with kindness and respect, so 
let it he. I consider the friendship'of such persons utterly worth- 
less, and should be most happy to know if I were associating 
with a class of that kind.” 

Lottie was surprised at this outburst of true feeling from her 
friend, but, not at all coinciding with her views, felt relieved 
when she changed the subject by asking: 

“I wonder if those TreveLan girls who attend school are 
connected with this family.^ The name is rather uncommon.” 


6o 


Pearl Trcvehau: or^ 


“No; I suppose not. I should hardly think so. Their pa- 
rents are very rich, and the girls extremely proud and haughty ; 
especially the eldest one, my favorite, Genevieve.” 

“ I have noticed your growing intimacy.” 

“Yes, and she used her utmost endeavor to persuade me to 
make her home m}' own next term. I have not fully decided, 
but rather think I shall do so, as I shall be ver}" lonely after losing 
my room-mate, your own dear self But excuse me if I abruptly 
change the subject by asking if Paul Marshall is a cousin of 
yours?” 

“Not my cousin, but the Doctor’s nephew. You forget he 
is not my uncle. That is only my pet name for him.” 

“ Oh, yes ; pardon me.” 

“ Have you ever met Paul?” 

“ Once, at a picnic last summer when I was home on vacation. 
He came do\Mi with Claude Trevelyan to rusticate a little dur- 
ing the hot, sultry days.” 

“I have not seen him since his return from Europe, and Uncle 
writes that he is greatly improved. May I ask whether your 
impression concerning him was favorable?” 

“It certain!}^ was, exceedingly so. Yery handsome, isn’t he, 
and extremely agreeable?” 

“ He is, indeed, if the 3 "ears have not changed him. I wonder 
if Uncle received my letter? If so the carriage will be sent for 
me to-morrow. Then after I get home I shall expect a visit 
from vou before your return to school.” 

“I shall most certainly avail myself of the opportunity, but 
regret ver}" much that I shall be obliged to return to school 
without you.” 

The vehicle had turned about and they were nearing home 
now, and so let us leave them this autumn evening and return 
to Claude as he sits alone in the library engaged in hard studv. 

It is nearing the hour to retire now, and la\dng down his book 
he lifts a small golden-clasped Bible from the table and begins 
to peruse its pages before retiring. As he turns over the gilt- 
edged leaves, he finds mam* passages marked which thrill his 
heart and correspond exactly with many he has marked in his 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 6i 

own Bible, among which are these : “ Come unto me, all ye that 

labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest;” “The Lord 
hath chastened me sore, but He hath not given me over unto 
death;” “I love the Lord because He hath heard my voice and 
my supplication;” “God is an ever present help in time of 
trouble,” and many others similar to those mentioned. He was 
just about to turn and find the name of the owner, when the 
door opened and the Doctor entered. 

“Ah, Claude, my boy, up still? and reading in Grace’s little 
Bible. How fresh it brings her to my memory. She was a 
good Christian, and her religious counsel and example, Claude, 
has helped me a great deal towards leading a better life. She 
it was who first led my good wife and myself to embrace Chris- 
tianity.” 

“Noble girl!” exclaimed Claude, fervently. 

“She is, indeed, noble; -and to-morrow, I am happy to inform 
you, I send the carriage for her to Stanwick Manse, where she 
has been staving a few days with a friend.” 

The Doctor did not discern the slight pallor that overspread 
Claude’s countenance in the lamp-light at those words, and so 
continued: 

“ I have never told you aught of her history. In fact, I know 
but little myself, but I will tell you as far as my knowledge ex- 
tends. Her birth-place was in a far Eastern country, whither 
her father, with his accomplished Northern bride, had gone to 
amass wealth, in which he met with rapid success. Two lovely 
daughters, four years passing between their births, came to 
gladden their home, and, for a time, all went happy, until the 
youngest of those cherub children, a tin}^ infant, was lost; and, 
what was most heart-rending, not by death, which would have 
been far preferable, as it proved, but lost in a mysterious and 
unaccountable manner.” 

Claude started, almost holding his breath, as the Doctor pro- 
ceeded: 

“The mother, just at twilight one summer’s day, sat in a small 
pavilion with her child. Wishing to return to the house for 
some article, she left her for a moment, almost buried among 


62 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


the snowy pillows, and a few moments after, when she returned, 
the babe was not there. The poor woman informed her hus- 
band immediately, and earnest search was made in ever}* direc- 
tion by the servants and people of the vicinity, while the parents 
were almost frantic with grief; but their tears and prayers were 
of no avail, for nothing was ever found of the child. A few 
years after, they returned to this country where they remained, 
until about five years ago, when the mother died. I attended 
during her last illness, before which I knew but little about the 
family. After this mournful event the husband seemed utterly 
bowed down with sorrow and despair, and in a few months 
sailed for India, where, he hoped, travel and change of scene 
would somewhat palliate his suffering. He begged me to take 
his child, be to her a father and guardian during his absence, 
and I should be amply compensated. Thus I came in posses- 
sion of so lovely a prize. He told me himself about the loss of 
his infant daughter, but narrated the circumstance as briefly as 
possible, as it appeared to give him such utter pain.” 

“ But was there nothing about the child to identify it ?” asked 
Claude, feeling it his duty, although his heart seemed sinking 
within him. However, he felt relieved when the Doctor replied: 

“ I can not tell you that, my boy. The loss had occurred so 
long previous that all hope was gone and that was not men- 
tioned.” 

“ Do you hear from her father often ?” 

“For over one year we have received no tidings, and can not 
conceive the reason: yet sincerely hope, for the sake of Grace, 
that all win vet come out right.” 

“But if the child should ever be found and the father return, 
how happv thev might again be. even now, in the re-union.” 

“Oh, yes: for Grace has a slight remembrance of the little 
creature still, I have heard her say, though but a wee thing her- 
self; yet we can never hope for that.” 

But Claude kept his thoughts to himself He was not so 
sure. It was just about as many vears since Pearl was brought 
to his father’s house, and by what he had learned Grace was 
about four years older than Pearl: but nothing could be proved 


Virtue Reafs its Ozvn Reward. 


without her father. So, until his return, which might never 
occur, he would still keep the secret close shut up within his 
own heart. He dared not breathe it, even to himself, and he 
hardly knew what his hopes were. He realized that the knowl- 
edge would bring happiness to two hearts, that of Grace and 
her father, if the relationship were proven, and it might also to 
Pearl, for wealth would be hers and the fond I'ove of a father 
and sister, while she could never doubt the continuance of his 
own brotherly love which so many years had strengthened. So 
he would struggle to overcome the selfishness of his nature, 
and, if possible, bring this happiness to others. 

The last few weeks had been solitaiy ones to him, for Paul, 
whose presence ever made the house bright and cheerfiil, as 
well as the Doctor’s wife and little ones, had been away on a 
visit, only just returning the day before, and the strange, unac- 
customed quiet had become monotonous and wearisome in the 
extreme, and he longed for a change. Besides, letters from 
Pearl had been very infrequent, which served to increase his 
loneliness. But the sunshine often follows the shower; so with 
the returning ones came brighter, happier days. 


CHAPTER V. 

“ Heuce far from me, ye senseless joys, 

That lade before ye reach the Heart, — 

The crowded Home’s distracted noise. 

Where all is pomp and useless art! 

Give me my Home, to quiet dear, 

Where Hours untold and peaceful move.” 

—Mrs. Opie. 

The next day’s sunset found Grace Nelisse at home for the 
first time in manv months. She was greeted with extreme joy 
and afiection by each member of the famih% and congratulated 
on her success as a scholar. She received it all with the pe- 
culiar modesty which characterized her, and then, turning, was 
introduced to Claude Trevelyan, as he, at that moment, entered 


64 


Pearl Trevclviin ; oi\ 


from a walk, and, remo^^ng his hat with a gentlemanly grace, 
made a low bow. He was somewhat surprised when she of- 
fered her hand, and with simple frankness said: 

“Uncle has spoken of you so many times in his letters, that 
I feel almost acquainted, although we have never before met. I 
hope you have learned to love our pleasant home.^” she added, 
inquiringly. 

“I have, indeed. It is impossible for one to remain long 
within its charming precincts without loving it,” he said politely ; 
and so their acquaintance began, and Claude, as he gazed upon 
her fair, girlish face, which had something of sadness about it, 
thought the original lovelier than the picture, if possible. Some- 
thing in it startled him, too; for one day as he sat by the draw- 
ing-room window, a merry laugh broke upon the stillness, and 
looking out he saw Grace coming up the walk with the great 
house-dog by her side. Her hat was swinging in one fair white 
hand, and she looked so much like Pearl, as he had seen her 
many times, that, had he been in his own home, he would have 
called it her. Something farther to confirm his suspicion, he 
thought. He felt his heart drawn towards her even more as he 
noted the resemblance, but he did not mention the fact. He 
could not help often wondering to himself whether they had 
seen each other during Grace’s stay at Stan wick Manse, but 
one da}^ a letter came from Pearl which gave him some infor- 
mation on this point. It spoke of her meeting Lottie with a 
friend, of the cold bow received, and of her final belief concern- 
ing Lottie’s intention to renounce her friendship entirely. She 
added that it had at first given her great pain, but that she was 
now trying to banish every remembrance of their former inti- 
macy, and had partly succeeded, as she thought her unworth}^ 
of the least regard. Then sa\fing, “I will tell you the particu- 
lars of my ride, when I see you, and the adventure we met 
with,” it concluded. 

Grace coming in as he was readmg the letter, started and 
turned back as she said: “Oh, I fear I am intruding. Excuse 
me ; I was not aware the room had an occupant just now.” 

“Not intruding at all, I assure you. Pra}^ be seated. I only 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward. 65 

came in here to read a letter from my sister, and have just 
finished it. 

“I hope you find her well; and that reminds me that while at 
Stanwick Manse, as my friend and I were riding out one day, 
we met your sister and another young lady on horseback. At 
least Lottie informed me her name was Trevelyan, and, recol- 
lecting that as the name of Uncle’s student, I supposed her to 
be your sister.” 

Claude colored as he thought of Pearl’s letter, but not ap- 
pearing to notice it, Grace continued: 

“ She is very beautiful and an elegant equestrienne. I almost 
envy you the possession of such a sister.” 

How Lottie vanished into insignificance as he stood before 
this lovely creature and heard her speak with so much respect 
and admiration of his idolized sister! Here, truly, was genuine 
nobility of character — one who was an heiress, a beaut}^, talented 
and accomplished, not manifesting, by word or deed, that she 
even thought of the difference in their stations. The tears 
started in his .eyes, and he turned away to conceal his emotion. 
It was quite a moment before he spoke. Then, with a voice firm 
as he could command, he said : 

“I do, indeed, prize her above everything earthly. With her 
sisterly love and counsel removed, life would remain to me a 
mere blank.” 

Then he started at his own words and turned pale as a statue, 
for quick as a flash had come the thought that she was not his 
sister; that perhaps some one, even the sweet girl before him, 
had more right to call her by that sacred name than himself; 
and no one could tell at what moment he might be deprived of 
it all. Oh, what pain the thought gave him! and what would 
the reality bring! “Oh, my God! spare me this,” he breathed 
from his inmost heart; yet resolving to do his duty though it 
bring upon him the deepest sorrow of earth. Nothing he had 
ever passed through, even the occasion of his own father’s 
death, could be compared to this, for she was all, all he had now 
whose love he could justly claim. 

Grace observed his emotion, and crossing over to where he 
9 


66 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


stood, she said, while a look of compassion beamed from her 
countenance: “You seem troubled. Perhaps you would not 
mind telling me the cause, as she is not here — your sister I 
mean — for sympathy sometimes helps wonderfully to alleviate, 
you know.” 

He looked down upon her as she stood partly shaded by the 
heavy curtain, and replied, while a look of anguish stole into 
his dark grey eyes : “You are very kind — very kind to offer it 
to one so unworthy, but I cannot — oh, I cannot tell you. Some- 
time, perhaps, you may know ; but let me assure you that no 
one is more favored by my confidence in this respect than your- 
self None knows but God.” 

“ I am very sorry for you,” she said, her dark eyes brimming 
with tears, “ and regret that I can do nothing to lessen your suf- 
fering; for I am not so young that sorrow has never visited me. 
On the contrary, God only knows what grief and agony have 
been crowded into the last few years of my life, since the death 
of my angel mother, particularly since my father went away, 
for then I was left comparatively alone; but God has been a 
loving Father through all, raised me up kind friends, and life 
seems more endurable than it once did. Perhaps brighter days 
will come to you, too, by and by. But Aunt is calling; I must 
go,” she added, as the clear voice of the Doctor’s wife rang 
through the hall, echoing her name. 

Claude watched her retreating form, and then, as the ponder- 
ous door closed after her, he seated himself in a great easy chair 
and gave himself once more to his own strange thoughts. He 
looked down deep into his heart and saw that he had been mis- 
taken; that what he once fancied was love for Lottie had only 
been a passion of the moment, which her own silly conduct had 
entirely obliterated. But this deep respect which he felt for 
Grace Nellisse, this soul attraction, added to every perfection of 
person and manner which drew him irresistably towards her, he 
feared was fast ripening into love, and here the same impedi- 
ment presented itself that he had met in Lottie’s case. Were it 
not for the education he craved so deeply, he would leave this 
place forever, ere he learned to love Grace Nellisse; for who 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


67 


could move within the magic circle of her influence and remain 
indifferent? Oh, the bitter sting of poverty seemed sometimes 
more than he could bear. It barred him even from those he 
loved, besides many enjoyments and privileges he could not help 
longing for. Yet God knew best. Did he possess wealth per- 
haps he might become too much absorbed in the affairs of this 
world and his Heavenly Father too soon be forgotten. Rather 
than that he would live in extreme poverty all his life. Just at 
this point the door opened and Paul came in, whistling gaily a 
snatch of some old song, but seeing Claude, stopped short, re- 
moved his hat, made a mock courtesy and said: 

“ I beg your pardon, old boy. Have I been interrupting one 
of your reveries? Just like me — always blundering in some- 
where and disturbing people.” 

“ I am glad to see you. Sit down and let us enjoy a little chat 
together — what we have not had since your return,” said Claude, 
drawing a chair near his own. “I suppose you had a charm- 
ing visit?” 

“Yes, indeed. I was never happier in my life, unless I might 
except those few days at Moss Cottage. Lots of gay girls 
down there, and little flirtations with the pretty lassies, games 
at croquet, boating excursions, etc., passed away the time pleas- 
antly, I assure you. By the way, that puts me in mind that I 
am going down in your vicinity for a few days to sketch a little.” 

“ And you will most certainly make Moss Cottage your home 
while stopping there?” inquired Claude. 

“ I had thought some of it, if you think I will not be intruding.” 

“Never fear. You will be doubly welcome. Pearl will be 
onty too glad to entertain you, for each letter she writes speaks 
of many lonely hours. How soon do you think of going?” 

“I was intending to start immediately, but as I was crossing 
the hall I met Grace with a letter in her hand, just received, 
that she informed me was from Lottie Stanwick, stating her 
intention to visit her. So I suppose I shall have to postpone 
going for a short time, as Grace will not hear of it now.” 

This announcement did not affect Claude as it once would 
have done, except to call a flush of indignation to his brow as 


68 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


he thought of her conduct towards Pearl, and he regretted that 
circumstances would oblige him to be again thrown into her so- 
ciety. However, he resolved to shun her as much as possible; 
and when, the next day, she arrived dressed in the height of 
style, with haughtiness stamped upon every feature, and at- 
fecting a proud and stately gait, he met her with a frigid po- 
liteness scarcely equaled by her own. Grace greeted her with 
a cheering welcome, and the other members of the family 
with becoming courtesv. Pearl’s name was never once breathed 
during Lottie’s stay. Claude felt that it would be almost sacri- 
lege for Lottie to take her name upon her lips, and he spared 
the proud heiress the mortification which inquiry would surely 
have caused. 

Claude’s altered appearance, so freezingly cold and distant, 
touched a chord of regret in the heart of the haughty girl, but 
hardly acknowledging it to herself, and divining rightly that he 
had heard of her dropping his sister’s friendship, she crushed it 
with that indomitable pride of her nature which surmounted 
every obstacle, and tried to believe herself utterly indifierent to 
him. But at night, when eveiy one was wrapped in slumber, 
there would sometimes swell up a cr^^ of longing from her heart 
for one brotherly, even friendly, word from him such as she used 
to have; and when he appeared so devoted to Grace, so often 
seeking her side, turning her music and bestowing upon her 
various little attentions, her pride almost relented, and she would 
be on the point of braving anything for one of his long-ago 
smiles. Then, remembering how far she had carried her scorn 
— so far as to slight his beloved sister — she was well aware he 
would not accept her regard now were it offered. Then the 
love of gold and vain show would serve to still farther strengthen 
her determination, and she would more firmly resolve that Paul 
Marshall, with his riches, should be the one she would strive to 
win. Accordingly every effort was put forth, every little at- 
tention paid him, her most bewitching smiles bestowed, and 
words of approval uttered, at every act of his. And did he per- 
ceive all this? Ah, yes; and he did not remain entirely unef- 
fected by it. For, if she chose, Lottie Stan wick could prove 


Virtue Rea'ps its Own Reward. 


69 


herself most attractive and agreeable. So Paul Marshall learned 
to like her society, and the moments winged their flight swiftly 
and pleasantly during her visit. Not that he was in love. No: 
He had learned merely to like the society of a great man}?^ 
ladies, and passed away many pleasant hours in this manner; 
but she was too nearly like the majority he had met. He rather 
preferred a change — some one of more rustic simplicity and 
careless grace, if he was to fall in love. Besides he had not for- 
gotten the rosy face framed in by golden curls at Moss Cottage, 
which he hoped soon to meet. 

Thus passed the time until the night before Lottie’s return 
home, when a few choice friends were invited in and the evening 
passed in harmless games, music, amusing conversation and the 
like, while all seemed to join in the general hilarity except 
Claude. Somehow it carried him back to the party at Stan- 
wick Manse. What a contrast ! Pearl was present then, happy 
and joyous. Lottie appeared the loving friend of both, while 
that night had come to him a revelation of something which, 
thank God, had now entirely passed away. And then, swift as 
an arrow shot from the bow of memorv, came the words spoken 
by her at the fountain: “I shall always be the same to you. 
Pearl.” Ah! how could he longer believe in friendship! No 
wonder his sister had lost all faith. And then, what farther in- 
creased his sadness, Grace, dressed in simple white, with tube- 
roses drooping in her hair, moved the center of attraction amid 
the gay circle, and this seemed to remove her farther still from 
him and show more vividly the contrast between their stations 
in life. She looked like a beautiful picture to-night, and wore 
only one article of jewelry — a golden cross suspended on a chain 
around her white neck — which rivited Claude’s attention from 
the first. 

He was sitting apart from the others when, disengaging her- 
self from the company, she came forward, and taking a seat by 
his side, said: 

“You are very silent, and I fear do not enjoy yourself” 

“ I must admit. Miss Nellisse, that I feel rather sad to-night, 
though I see no remedy for it.” 


70 


Pearl Trevelyan; or, 


“ I am very sorry, indeed,” she returned, in a tone of sym- 
pathy; “but I wish to ask of you one favor. Please be so kind 
as to call me Miss Nellisse no longer, but Grace. Surely, I 
think, we have been acquainted long enough to lay aside such 
freezing formality. Besides, I am but a school-girl yet, you 
know.” 

“ Certainly ; I will do so if it is your wish,” he replied, smilingly. 

“ And now come with me, won’t you, please,” she continued, 
coaxingly, “ and walk among the flowers in the conservatory. 
Perhaps they may exert a cheering effect. Paul and Lottie are 
among the number enjoying their fragrance and beauty.” 

Claude arose, and, as her white hand touched his arm, a thrill 
like electricity pervaded his frame, and he knew that in spite of 
all his struggles to the contrary, he loved Grace Nellisse with a 
mad passion.. They walked amid the intoxicating perfume of 
the tropic plants, stood where the spray of a silvery fountain 
dampened the folds of her golden hair, and listened, almost 
spell-bound, to the bewildering strains of music that came float- 
ing in on the sweetly scented air. Suddenly, like a glancing 
sunbeam, something flashed across the filmy whiteness of her 
robe and fell with a faint noise at their feet. He stooped, and 
with a hand almost unsteady, raised the golden cross. 

“ Allow me,” he said, and in the dazzling light read the name, 
“ Grace,” finely engraven on its gleaming center. He placed it 
in her hand, turned white as death and sank into a seat. , 

“You are not well,” she said; “you look pale and almost ill,” 
and with a silver goblet she brought some water, and with her 
own hand bathed his brow. 

“ Oh, thank you,” said Claude. “ Only a slight indisposition. 
I am better now.” 

“But where’s my cross again? Your strange appearance so 
frightened me that I must have dropped it the second time. 
The value isn’t so much, but I prize the little jewel for papa’s 
sake.' It was his gift. I have worn it since my infancy. Oh, 
here it is,” she added, raising the chain from one of the tendrils 
of a trailing vine where it had become entangled, and clasped 
it firmly about her neck. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


71 


Claude was almost sure now that Pearl, his sister only in 
name, was hers by the ties of nature. For the mate to this 
little chain and cross lay this moment in the rosewood box in his 
own cottage home. This was very strong proof of her identity, 
and begging to be excused, and assisted by Grace, who kindly 
assured the company that he was not well, wished them a pleas- 
ant time and retired to spend a restless night. 

His thoughts were unsettled. He hardly knew what move 
to make next, for the crisis must soon come when he could be 
silent no longer. Duty’s call he must obey. God would give 
him the strength he needed. So, with a lirm trust in Him, he 
finally concluded to wait until they received tidings from Mr. 
Nellisse, and fell into a troubled slumber just as the faint rays of 
aurora could be discerned in the eastern sk3^ 

Lottie returned home the next day, and believed that she had 
gained something toward making a conquest over Paul, for that 
night he had breathed regret at her early departure, and had 
promised to call and see her during his stay at Moss Glen. She 
did not fear Pearl, because Paul Marshall, she was sure, would 
never marry a penniless orphan, though she almost envied her 
the pleasure of his agreeable compan}^; but she consoled her- 
self with the hope that he would probably call and see her often, 
and perhaps spend much of his time at her statety home. 

But how does the life of our little heroine pass since the night 
we left her sleeping so peacefully on the snowy couch in her 
own little boudoir, after the eventful ride? Not very happity. 
Life had never seemed so distasteful before. She was almost 
weary of it ; Lottie was her friend no more ; Claude was absent ; 
and Paul Marshall had not come as he had promised, and it was 
now getting late in the season. Oh, if only something would 
transpire to break this dull monotony! 

It was a warm and beautiful day, unusually so for one in No- 
vember, and she had strolled out to the little nook by the lake 
to bid it a long farewell till the spring time came again. It had 
been her favorite retreat since that night 'when Paul Marshall 
had there sought her side and breathed those words “which 
burned within her memory yet.” He had said he would 


72 


Pearl Trevelyan: or^ 


“never forget her, though years on years rolled by.” Ah! 
she feared he had already, as she sat there looking dreamily 
away on the distant hills, for not one word from him had come, 
nor had his name even been mentioned in Claude’s letters since 
that night which seemed so long ago. 

But hark! Did she hear a footstep? No: It must have 
been the rustling of the leaves; and with a sigh these words of 
the poetess came into her mind, and she murmured them aloud: 

“There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds stirring; 

There is peace so cold and bitter that we almost welcome strife.” 

“ How true !” exclaimed a manly voice, and through an arch- 
way formed b}^ interlacing boughs above, lightly sprang Paul 
Marshall. “ But you do not mean to say those words apply to 
you, I hope,” he added, as he saw the glad smile which broke 
oyer her face like a burst of sunlight dispelling the clouds. 

“I thought so just now, for I have been extremely lonely tOr 
day; but I am glad to see you,” she said, rising and offering her 
hand in welcome. He took it and impulsively pressed it to his 
lips. The hot blood rushed to her face, she drew proudly back 
and inquired somewhat coldly: 

“ Y ou left my brother well, I suppose ?” 

“I did, I am happy to say. I started very abruptly or he 
would have written a letter;” and then seating himself he re- 
lated everything concerning her brother which she would be 
most likely to wish to know; in the meantime Pearl listening 
very attentively and watching earnestly the changes of his 
countenance and the penetrating expression of his beautiful eyes, 
such as she had never seen in any person before. 

“ And now I suspect you are wondering how I found you here 
in this little out-of-the-way hiding-place. Your housekeeper 
told me, on reaching the cottage, that you had gone out for a 
walk, and something directed me hither. You see I had not 
forgotten this little enchanted nook, nor the fairy I met here that 
night in midsummer. Oh, how far away it seems, little girl! I 
did not think then I should stay from here so long, but, unex- 
pectedly, I accompanied Aunt to Carlton Hall, her brother’s 
country-seat, and on our return Miss Stanwick paid Grace 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward, 73 

Nellisse, Uncle’s ward, a visit, by which I was necessarily de- 
tained, as she insisted on my staying to help entertain her.” 

Pearl started. Then Lottie had been partially the cause of 
his absence. She had been there with her winning smiles to 
lure Paul Marshall from her side. She had not dreamed of this. 
Perhaps she had won his love. But if she had, why was it 
aught to her? During his stay she would endeavor to make 
it pleasant and entertaining, and, with all, keep her heart free 
from the power of love. It was indeed a trying position, con- 
tinually in the presence of one with Paul Marshall’s fascination 
and unusual manly beauty. Was she equal to the task? But 
we will pass on. 

Pearl was never happier in her life than during Paul Mar- 
shall’s stay at Moss Cottage. She had basked in the sunshine 
of his presence, sat like one charmed under the power of his 
earnest, bewitching eyes and subtle smiles, until she had, un- 
consciously, given him the whole love of her heart. He had 
called only once or twice at Stanwick Manse, to Lottie’s great 
discomfort, but the attraction was so much greater in the little 
white cot by the lake, that what leisure he had he felt must be 
devoted exclusively to its fair mistress. He wondered some- 
what why the two girls never visited each other ; 3^et he thought 
he could divine the reason, and admired Pearl still more deepl^^ 
for her persistent silence whenever Miss Stanwick was men- 
tioned. She certainly did not desire to injure her in his estima- 
tion, while little insinuations had been several times thrown out 
by Lottie against Pearl; but this had no effect except to lessen 
his regard for the former. Lottie was greatly chagrined, as his 
preference for Pearl was plainly to be observed, while, to our 
little heroine, it seemed that the whole house had been suddenly 
transformed into a realm of sunshine and beauty, and Paul Mar- 
shall was the prince who wielded the magic wand. 

All the surroundings had a charm never known before. The 
roomy, spare chamber with its curtains of rich damask; its 
carpet soft and bright; on the wall a few pictures to make it 
cheerful, and its bed clothed in white, pure and spotless as the 
snow, seemed to be pervaded with a magic atmosphere, and a 
10 


74 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or^ 


dream-like beauty and warmth unknown before; for it was his 
room, during his stay, and became ever after sacred in the eyes 
of Pearl. The old harp had been again awakened, and the 
voice of the little canary chimed more jo3^ously with the music, 
while Pearl, under Paul Marshall’s instruction, proved herself 
talented and really" became quite a musician, which afterward 
helped in whiling away many lonety hours. 

But she knew this must soon end — aU this fairy-like existence 
— and she must again come back to the sad reality, loneliness 
and monoton\\ Oh, with what a strange dread did she look 
forward to the adieux he must utter, and then, perhaps, leave 
her forever. He had never realh^ spoken of love, but yet she 
had dared to hope, for she thought his manner, if not his words, 
had indicated as much. 

It was on the morning of his departure. She had thrown her 
shawl around her and sought the rustic summer-house for a few 
moments to regain her wonted composure. Until now smiles 
and ringing laughter had covered the pain at her heart since 
she knew the time was so near when he must go; but now sobs 
were convulsing her and blinding tears filled her e\^es. Every 
hope that he loved her had fled. He was going now. Surel}" 
he would have spoken ere this! She would not have him see 
her weakness ; so she had come out here, for amidst it all our 
little friend had acted her part so admirabty that Paul Marshall 
hardh" believed she loved him. 

This morning the clouds chased each other hurriedly over the 
sky, the breeze sighed moumfullv through the few dead leaves 
that yet clung to the lower boughs of the trees, the waters had a 
sad, sobbing sound, and her own heart seemed breaking. Sud- 
denh" the wind came with a wilder rush, the grape-vine swung 
and crackled, and before she was aware of another presence, a 
hand was laid lightlv, softly as a falling leaf, upon the bright 
folds of her hair, and Paul Marshall was b\" her side. 

“Weeping again, little Pearl But come with me out of the 
cold;” and taking her small white hand in his he led her into 
the librar\' where a bright fire was blazing read}’ to receive 
them. “And what am I to think this time? Your brother is 


Virtue Reafs its Oum Reward. 75 

not here now. It surely can not be that my departure is the 
cause of these tears?” - 

She looked at him then as he spoke those words — such a look 
as Paul Marshall never forgot — so full of soul-speaking love 
and genuine grief It told more than words to him who was 
searching so earnestly for the first ray of hope, and sinking at 
her feet, and fixing his beautiful, searching eyes upon her, he 
said: 

“Pearl, little darling, I have loved you from the first. God 
knows that these days at Moss Cottage, with your blessed 
presence, have been the happiest of my life. I thought happi- 
ness was mine before, but this has been incomparable bliss — a 
perfect Eden upon earth. Tell me — tell me — may I dare hope 
for one return from you for all these hours of waiting and pas- 
sionate adoration? Can you — will you love me? Will you be 
my wife? 

She hesitated. A look of unutterable anguish crossed his 
features. 

“ Speak, speak I implore you,” he pleaded, “ and let me know 
the worst. End this terrible suspense. Must I indeed be exiled 
from your side and suffer even worse than death? Tell me, if 
you would not kill me!” he said, rising and walking rapidly to 
and fro, while great drops of agony stood on his brow and his 
frame shook with emotion. 

She spoke now, with a strange, unnatural calmness, as though 
she would conceal the anguish gnawing at her heart. 

“You forget that simple Pearl Trevelyan is not the accom- 
plished lady Paul Marshall should have to grace the home of 
wealth and splendor which will undoubtedly be his.” 

“Accomplishments! What are they to me! Your priceless 
love is all I ask, for which, if I possessed it, I would not accept 
the wealth of the Indies. I can never love another. So tell me 
what will my life be in all the long dreary years to come.” 

“You would soon forget. Wealth can purchase everything,” 
she said. 

“A wife, perhaps,” he answered, bitterly, “but not the love 


76 


Pearl Trevelyan: or, 


of a true and faithful heart. No: I would cast it all away with 
contempt for such a treasure as that.” 

“ But I am so young,” she pleaded. There was a glad light 
in the eyes of violet now as she uplifted them to his, at which 
Paul Marshall caught with eagerness, trying to believe it the 
consummation of his hopes. 

“ But I will promise not to call for you in three years from 
this very month. Will that do? Will you promise now and 
tell me that you love me? Only make the vow that I may not 
lose you ; that no one, when I am gone, may come and charm 
the dove away from the home-nest — the beautiful home-nest 
which her presence makes an Eden.” 

“1 promise,” she said, with a blush, and a burst of joyful tears. 

“ Mine, all mine ! Oh ! you have made me the happiest of 
men!” he said, impulsively throwing his arms around her, and 
imprinting kiss after kiss upon her upturned face ; and taking from 
his linger a ring that had once been his much-loved mother’s, 
placed it upon hers, as he said : “ This shall be the seal of our 

betrothal, artd when in our weary separation, during the months 
to come, you look upon it, my pet, just remember that Paul 
Marshall is ever true to his promised bride. Remember that. 
He will never, never change, even though Pearl Trevelvan 
prove faithless;” and together they sat, until another hour had 
passed away, dwelling on the happiness which the future would 
bring to their waiting, anxious hearts. 

“ And now I must leave you, leave my darling,” he said at 
last, rising to go, “though it is like severing my very heart- 
strings. Good-bye, good-bye,” little pet; and with one long, 
lingering embrace he was gone. 

Oh, how long the hours of that day seemed without him. 
No one to call her pet names now; no one to come with honeyed 
words and smiles and winning glances, and no one to charm 
with his music! The harp was silent now. She had not the 
heart to wake its echoes. But the sight of the gleaming ruby, 
the tiny circlet which bound their souls together, had a cheering 
effect, as she sat alone in the death-like silence where he had 
left her; the fire dying upon the hearth, and even the canary’s 


Virtue Rca-ps its Own Reward, 77 

song hushed as though its little heart were throbbing with sym- 
pathy for its mistress. 

But she had not long to wait alone, for soon after, as she 
looked out upon the cheerless winter landscape, what was her 
surprise to see Claude alight from a carriage and come hurriedly 
up the walk. 

After the salutations were over he said: “I have a letter from 
our Uncle, who is not expected to live, requesting us to come 
without delay. So let us hasten, for there may be something of 
importance to communicate.” 

Not much was talked of during the hurried preparation, both 
reserving their thoughts until a more suitable time; and the fol- 
lowing morning found them on their journey to L . 


CHAPTER VI. 

“Nothing can we call our own. but Death, 

And that small model of the barren earth 
Which serves as paste and cover to our hones.” 

—Shakespeare. 

It was a Strange night. No moon; no little star-lamps were 
lit in the dark-shrouded night-sky, but inky clouds flew like 
black-winged demons through the illimitable space, and the wind 
went shrieking and moaning along the broad, village streets, 
and round a dark, stately mansion, within which the scene 
strangely accorded with the rage of the elements, for around 
the death-bed of husband and father friends were grouped; 
among whom we behold Claude and Pearl, who had arrived 
shortly before and quickly hastened to hear the words of the 
dying man. He requested to be left a few moments alone with 
them, and taking the hand of each he said, while tears rained 
from his eyes and droped upon the spotless pillow: 

“ And here are my brother’s children. Oh, my heart bleeds 
when I think of the almost unpardonable sin I have committed. 


78 


Pearl Trevehan ; or^ 


But I trust God has forgiven me, and through Him I was led to 
fully repent and believe. You are the very picture of your fa- 
ther, Claude, as I remember him, though it has been many a 
long, long year. I can almost believe he stands before me now. 
You doubtless know your father’s history far better than I can 
tell you, and what estranged us who had once been such loving 
brothers. The part of the property which should have been 
his was . bequeathed to me, and I, in my selfishness, kept it in 
my possession, while my poor brother became a victim to ill- 
health and almost poverty. No wonder he lost all love for one 
who appeared so utterly heartless, and remorse of conscience 
since his death has done much towards bringing me where I 
am. I could not die a peaceful death until a confession was 
made to his orphan children, because they are all that is left 
which are near and dear to him. In my last testament you will 
find each a share which I hope will, in some measure, compen- 
sate for my selfish conduct. Did you ever receive three hundred 
dollars in a letter?” 

“We did,” said Claude, “and could not tell who was the kind 
donor. It came just in the time of our extremity and did much 
real good for us.” 

“Thank God! It was payed to me unexpectedly, and think- 
ing the small sum might help you a little, at least, I enclosed it 
in a letter and sent it.” 

“We sincerely thank you,” said Claude, mingling his tears 
with Pearl’s, “and, my dear uncle, I can truly say, that were 
my father here, I am sure you would be freely forgiven. I 
know that on the other shore he is waiting now to welcome 
his only brother.” 

A smile played over the features of the dying man and then 
came an ashy paleness, and a stone-like glitter of the eyes, and 
Claude, stepping to the door, summoned the family. An efibrt 
' to speak, which ended in a whisper, “good-bye,” a gasp, and 
the once proud owner of all this grandeur by which thev were 
surrounded was no more, showing that all, both high and low, 
rich and poor, must at last reach the same sad end. 

The family were almost inconsolable, mourning, indeed, like 


Virttie Reafs its Own Reward. 


79 


those without hope. The burial services were conducted with 
splendor, and Pearl could not help thinking, as they placed the 
elegant coffin in the family vault, how vain are all things earthly, 
and particularly on a solemn occasion like the present, when all 
fashion and formality should be laid aside, and heed given to the 
warning voice of God. 

After the interment Pearl had ample time to look around and 
study the characters of those about her. There was their 
Uncle’s wife, who had not a very prepossessing countenance, 
and who wore a haughty, aristocratic air; her eldest daughter, 
Genevieve, very much like her mother in looks and demeanor; 
then Lulu, fair and beautiful, a tinge of pride in her manner, yet 
withal, ver}^ loving and affectionate ; and lastly, the son Charles, 
handsome and intelligent, rather short of stature, with black 
hair and eyes, and of a rather gay and reckless disposition. 
They were very kind to the brother and sister, and when, in a 
few days after, the will was found to leave them quite a little 
fortune, the family readily and cheerfully acquiesced, knowing it 
to be the request of the dying; and, as the time arrived when 
Claude and Pearl — much to the regret of all— started home, it 
was arranged that the latter should return as soon as possible 
in order to attend the next term of school. 

Claude remained at Moss Cottage for a few days of rest until 
Pearl’s departure, and, as might be supposed, they were veiy 
thankful that their Uncle had so kindly remembered them. 
They regarded the bequest as a gift sent from God. 

As Pearl was very busy making preparations little visiting 
was done, but she found time to narrate the adventure which 
Ellen met with during the berry ramble, their strange visit to 
the haunted house, and lastly, her betrothal to Paul Marshall. 
Claude listened stricken almost dumb with wonder and surprise. 
It was all so unexpected, and a nameless fear possessed him. 
Who could this weird woman be? How did she know aught 
of his sister and himself? - And the portrait which resembled 
Pearl — who was its original? It was certainly a mystery — all a 
mystery. Perhaps the woman was acquainted with the whole 
circumstance in some inexplicable manner, and ere he was 


8o 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or^ 


aware, his beloved sister might be snatched from him and 
doomed, no one knew to what a fate. But her betrothal — he 
could bear this better than the other, for she had said three years 
must pass ere Paul Marshall would come and claim her for his 
bride, and in that time God only knew what events might trans- 
pire. Meanwhile, Ellen assisted in the preparations, and when, 
at last, her young mistress •started the second time on her jour- 
ney, cried like a very child. Although the distance would ne- 
cessarily separate them for a longer time than before, Claude 
was glad of the opportunity for Pearl to attain an education, and 
in this he found consolation; and our little heroine, although she 
loved her home and its surroundings, which were now more 
than ever endeared to her by new ties of affection, felt that her 
thirst for knowledge could now be fully satisfied, and there would 
come also a cessation of the lonely hours which she knew 
Claude’s departure must bring. So with a fond adieu they 
parted — his destination being Dr. Norton’s city home, hers, the 
Trevelyan mansion in L . 

Ail greeted her kindly. Lulu particularly, with much affec- 
tion, and Charles, something like his sister, with a sincere and 
hearty welcome, these latter directly winning her regard. She 
was immediately shown to her room for the purpose of chang- 
ing her traveling garb for one more suitable, of soft crimson 
merino. It was a fairy-like nook, with a carpet into which the 
feet would sink, a couch of down and snow curtains of lace, an 
elaborate dressing table, and, in fact, every elegant appointment 
of a lady’s boudoir. She hoped to be happy here, for the sur- 
roundings were beautiful, and she resolved that on her part every 
effort should be made to win the love of her uncle’s family, as 
she fully appreciated their kindness, and desired to make it ap- 
parent by her conduct toward them while an inmate of their 
elegant home. Soon tea was announced, and as they sat before 
the sumptuous repast in the spacious dining-room, Charles said: 

“Well, Gene, when is that school-friend of yours. Miss Stan- 
wick, to make her advent here? She has such haughty, disa- 
greeable ways, for my part I wish ^^ou had never invited her.” 

Pearl’s heart gave a great bound at the thought of coming 


VirUie Reafs its Own Reward. 8i 

ihto such close proximity to Lottie, but when Genevieve spoke 
she felt somewhat relieved. 

‘‘For shame! to talk so of my dear friend! She only has the 
dignity suitable to her rank. However, Mr. Faultfinder, I had 
a letter from her last night and she informs me that cousins of 

hers, a young lady and her brother from N , where Miss 

Nellisse resides, are to attend school here and they have decided 
to board at the Hall. So set yourself at rest.” 

“ Capital! capital! I know cousin Pearl wouldn’t like her; I’m 
sure I can’t, and Lulu don’t fall down and worship her as you 
do.” 

“Mama, can’t he stop being so impertinent.^” 

“ Charles, Charles ; you should have more regard for your sis- 
ter’s feelings,” said his mother, rebukingly. “ Lottie Stanwick is 
an estimable young lady. I’m very much pleased that Gene- 
vieve has found such a friend, and am exceedingly sorr\^ that 
this term does not find her with us.” 

“Come Lu., what have you to say?” said Charles, turning to 
her as his advocate. 

“Not much, except that I should greatly prefer the friendship 
of that amiable Miss Nellisse, Lottie’s room-mate, who graduated 
last term. Do you know, I think cousin Pearl bears a striking 
resemblance to her?” 

All agred that she was correct; that their general form and 
expression were greatly similar, but not one dreamed of her ac- 
quaintance with Lottie — nor that she had seen Grace Nellisse, 
and her name had become so pleasantly familiar through one 
she loved better than life itself. Once she would have enjoyed 
nothing better than to have attended school here with Lottie; 
but alas! how great the change! Now she regretted it, and 
looked forward with dread to their coming meeting. But, at all 
events, she would appear towards her as a true Christian should, 
though she received evil returns. This required a struggle. 
The tempter whispered: Evil for evil. She has slighted you 
in the past, and when the opportunity ofiers, scorn her as once 
she scorned her early friend. Then conscience would whisper: 
No. Then again the tempter: She will say you are begging 
11 


82 


Pearl Trevelyan; or, 


for her friendship if you do not show that you have not for- 
gotten the past. But “a still, small voice” again echoed: No; 
and hour after hour silent petitions went up to heaven that God 
would direct her conduct towards Lottie, and guide her in the 
path of right and duty. Her whole trust was in Him, and she 
believed that through all temptation and trial He would at last 
bring her off conqueror. 

The following day the}^ met. The family were sitting in the 
drawing-room, when two stately young ladies, the very embodi- 
ment of fashion and vanity, were ushered into their presence. 
One was immediately recognized as Lottie, and the other she 
presented as her cousin, Miss Lee. The greeting by each 
member of the family was exceedingly cordial, except on the 
part of Charles, who merely extended a freezing bow. Then 
followed a formal introduction to Pearl. Lottie looked discon- 
certed for a moment, in her surprise at seeing the one she had 
so improperly used, not having before noticed her presence ; but, 
recovering herself, she extended her hand with a slight degree 
of warmth, and said, partly with a smile: 

“I believe I have met Miss Trevelyan before.” 

Pearl returned the greeting cordially; and, as no one seemed 
to notice the remark except, as Pearl thought, quick-witted 
Charles, no questions were asked, and the evening passed with 
less embarrassment than she had expected. 

School soon opened, and Pearl, finding the preceptress a kind 
and gentle lady, apparently, at least, and the majority of the 
pupils affable, concluded that boarding-school life would prove 
quite enjoyable. Genevieve and Lottie were fast friends; and 
Lulu, whose heart Pearl had quite won, clung to her with re- 
markable affection, which pleased Pearl, who hoped to exert a 
good inffuence over her as well as Charles, who showed his 
high regard for her by many little acts and words of kindness. 
But, what pained her most, and seemed to be the only real 
blemish upon his character, she had several times detected on 
his breath the fumes of wine. Oh, what a pity, she thought, 
that one so young, so intelligent, so promising, should begin 
thus early to partake of the intoxicating cup ! But she prayed 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


83 


for him nightly, and resolved, at the first opportunity, to point 
out the extreme folly of his course. Accordingly, as he came 
in one evening, his face flushed, his eye bright, and his step al- 
most unsteady, where Pearl was sitting alone in a deep reverie, 
the bright firelight casting fitful shadows on the wall and illu- 
minating the room so that a lamp was scarcely necessary, she 
said: 

“You have been out to-night, Charlie?” 

“Yes, Pearl, for a short time.” 

“But where?” she quizzed; and he hesitated. “You surely 
would not mind telling me?” she continued, kindly. 

“ Only down to the Central Hotel, cousin.” 

“Business then, I suppose?” she inquired again. “You may 
think I am rather inquisitive, but it is hardly the place for a 
young man unless called by something of importance.” 

She could see his face flush still more in the flickering fire- 
light as he forced himselt to answer: 

“I must confess, Pearl, that not business but a want of di- 
version caused me to seek that place.” 

“I am sorry, Charlie. They drink wine there, do they not, 
and gamble?” 

“Those who choose can do so,” he replied. 

“But you do not?” she queried. 

“ I have never gambled in my life, dear cousin.” 

“ But am I to understand that you do not abstain from drink ?” 

“ Certainly, I take a glass of wine, sometimes.” 

“But do you see no harm in it?” 

“None, whatever.” 

“But where is the advantage derived?” 

“ It gratifies the taste and is exhilerating.” 

“Each a pleasing sensation that soon passes away, and then 
one is worse ofl'; oh, how much worse ofl', than before! Oh, 
what folly! Can you not see it, cousin Charlie?” 

“ But I never drink to excess.” 

“Do vou consider your example nothing? Do you not wield 
an influence? Every one does, either for good or evil, and this 
certainly cannot be on the side of right. You know not what 


84 


Pearl Trevelvan ; or^ 


good you might do by totally abstaining from drink. How 
many of your voung companions might be led to follow your 
example! Besides, what leads to intoxication? If the first glass 
were not taken, surely there could be no drunkards in this world, 
and the more taken the greater the appetite, until the moderate 
drinker, before he knows it, is drawn into the whirling vortex 
of intemperance and sinks forever beneath its fiery waves.” 

“But there are many church members who take their glass 
frequently.” 

“That may be, Charles; but remember the sins of others will 
not excuse us in the dav of judgment. And then, again, vou see 
the force of example. Oh, if all could fully realize the manv 
downward steps they are causing others to take, methinks they 
would pause in their onward course of wrong.” 

“ Quite a temperance lecturer, little coz. But it is all good 
advice, I must admit, and I will promise you to think it over.” 

“ Thank you, Charlie. I really hope you will do so, and come 
to a right conclusion:” and so they parted for the night, he to 
dream over tfie words of Pearl, which continual!}' sounded in 
his ear, and she to pray that they might have the desired efiect. 
So the days passed away, the smell of wine on his breath was 
not so frequent, yet Pearl could see that he did not follow the 
only safe course — total abstinence — as she had hoped. Never- 
theless, her faith did not waver and she did not stop praying 
nightlv for the wayward, yet generous-hearted boy. 

Letters came often from Claude and Paul, alwavs full of love 
and hope and longings to meet her again, which cheered the 
hours and gave her great cause to be thankful for friends so 
kind and loving. I^ulu and Charles spent much of their time 
with her, Mrs. Trevelyan showed no lack of attention, while of 
Genevieve she saw but little, as her intimacy with Lottie took 
her much from home, and Pearl sometimes fancied the two girls, 
for some reason, sought to shun her : but not to be brought into 
contact with Lottie pleased her rather than otherwise. Her 
presence caused unpleasant feelings, for, although the wound was 
nearly healed, the scar remained and Pearl could not quite for- 


Virtue Reaps its Ow 7 i Reward. 85 

get, though the remembrance of their friendship seemed to have 
passed forever from the haughty girl’s mind. 

In this manner, without anything of note transpiring, the term 
passed away until the summer vacation, which Pearl was going 
to spend at Moss Cottage, Lulu and Charles bearing her com- 
pany, while Lottie, Genevieve and Mrs. Trevelyan went to the 
mountains and watering places. 

The two young gentlemen came down from the city, accom- 
panied by Miss Nellisse, who declared she was going to see 
that charming little nook which Paul had sketched so beauti- 
fully. Pearl was highly pleased to meet her, and the two girls, 
from the first, seemed to be drawn towards each other by some 
^ irresistible attraction. Each one of the company remarked their 
striking resemblance to each other; and Clara, whose every 
leisure moment, according to Pearl’s wish, was spent with the 
little party, said one da}", startling Claude strangely: 

“Why, really, vou look near enough alike to be sisters.” 

“I’m sure I shouldn’t object,” said Pearl, smiling and throw- 
ing her arms around the slender form of Grace, who blushed 
red as scarlet as she thought of only one possible way to be- 
come so. 

Claude Trevelyan had never spoken of love, although he 
could not entirely conceal it from her intuitive faculties. She 
knew too well the reason, and sometimes almost longed to have 
the power to speak. He believed her not wholly indifferent, 
but until he was sure of success in his profession he dare not 
broach the subject, and his only fears were that, ere that time, 
some other one might win her priceless love. Had he known 
the true feelings of her heart it might have been different; but 
no, it was veiled from him like many a truth that would make 
us the happier if we were only in possession of it. 

Paul was as devoted as ever; he and Charles, in the mean- 
time, becoming fast friends, while the latter really fell in love 
with charming Clara. 

Another picnic was enjoyed in the mountain grove, and with 
sails on the lake, walks and rides, all averred that they had 
spent a very happy season. When they parted Grace gained a 


86 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


promise from Pearl that the next vacation away from her Aunt’s 

should be spent at Dr. Norton’s. Invitations to visit L 

were extended to each one, while Paul Marshall whispered 
gaily: “You may be sure I shall avail myself of the opportu- 
nity if my bonnie Pearl is anywhere within its limits,” giving 
her hand such a squeeze she could hardly suppress a cry. 

A few weeks passed away after their return to L , when, 

one night quite late, as Pearl sat in her room, the door slightly 
ajar, the figure of a man staggered past along the hall, and 
rising, her heart beating wildly, she reached the entrance just in 
time to see that it was Charles intoxicated. She had wondered 
what kept him so late, and Lulu, who had left her presence a 
few moments before, expressed fears that something had be- 
fallen him, as so late an hour, recently, was unusual. Both had 
their secret thoughts, but neither expressed them to the other, 
and as Pearl turned to close the door, grieved and sick at heart 
that her entreaties had been in vain, she heard footsteps, and in 
a moment more. Lulu, pale and trembling, entered, and sinking 
into a chair, burst into tears. 

“Oh, Pearl, I saw him — I saw him. I was returning from 
the basement with some water, when he passed through the 
dining-room, reeling and stumbling at everv step. I was so 
frightened I did not let him see me, but as soon as he passed on 
I hurried as fast as I could to your room. Oh, we must not let 
mama know of this. It would kill her.” 

“You are right. Lulu, dear. It would but increase her sor- 
row. There is only one thing we can do for him, and that is, 
pray that God would help him not to yield to the fatal tempter.” 

Lulu looked up rather surprised at this proposal, unused to it 
as she was, never having been taught by her fashionable, aristo- 
cratic mother this most important of all duties; but rising she 
reverently kneeled beside Pearl, who poured out a fervent praver 
for her erring brother; and when they arose, for some reason 
hardly known to herself, she felt a great burden removed from 
her mind. She could not help thinking that such a heartfelt 
prayer from one so good as she believed cousin Pearl, would be 
answered. 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


«7 


The following morning it happened that Mrs. Trevelyan was 
detained in her room with a severe attack of head-ache. Gene- 
vieve was not at home, having spent the night with Lottie. 
Therefore no one knew of the state in which Charles returned 
home except Pearl and Lulu. He arose early next morning, 
Pearl heard his footsteps as he passed her room, and after a 
rather lengthy walk he returned just in time for the morning 
meal, almost himself again. But he looked sad and harrassed, 
saying but very little to any one. Pearl pitied him deeply, for 
she knew by his manner that he was truly repentant for the last 
night’s dissipation. So when he took a book and went off by 
himself to read, she, sought his side, and laying her hand on his 
shoulder softly spoke his name, “ Charlie.” 

He looked up and tears were in his eyes : “ Ah, I know you 

saw it all, cousin — saw me in that dreadful state last night, and 
my head is bowed with shame. I wonder how you deign to 
speak to me again since I disgraced you all.” 

“ I come not to reproach,” she uttered, “ but to give you my 
entire sympathy. You mother and Genevieve know it not, I 
am happy to say. This is the first time, I believe?” 

“Yes, yes, thank God! But if I had only heeded your ad- 
vice this might never have been. They gave me wine till my 
head began to whirl, and then I cared for nothing — forgot all, 
in the mad excitement liquor had kindled in my brain. Oh, oh! 
I see what it leads to. Your words have come true. I thought I 
possessed perfect control over myself, and could go just so far 
and no farther. But I got too near the maelstrom and it drew 
me into its destructive circle; and now, cousin Pearl, your hand 
is every thing I have to cling to that I may be kept from this 
worst of all evils.” 

“ I will do all I can for you, but there is another, you know, 
greater than I, who ‘is an ever present help in time of trouble.’ 
He will deliver you. Trust in Him. I have pra3^ed for you 
daily. Pray for yourself Promise me.” 

“ I will. He is the God my dear father trusted in during the 
last year or two of his life, and such a permanent change in any 


88 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or. 


one I never saw. I have often thought there must be great 
reality in religion to effect such an alteration.” 

“Yes, oh, yes, dear Charlie, there is great power in religion. 
And will you promise me to abstain from drink entirely, by the 
help of God?” 

“ I do most gladh" and willingly. I hnd it is the only safe 
way;” and, indeed, after this conversation, Charlie seemed a 
changed boy, many observing and remarking it. Pearl and 
Lulu hardly regretted that one night of dissipation, as it had 
proved the lesson, necessary although hard, to show him the 
folly of intemperance. His evenings were spent at home thence- 
forward, and his mother and Genevieve were at a loss to inter- 
pret the great change, but never knew the cause until a long 
time afterward. 

One winter’s evening Lottie had stepped in, and they were 
all sitting around the brightly illuminated room, when Charles 
entered, saying, “News for you, girls. Paul Marshall is in 
town.” 

All eyes, except Lottie’s, were rivited instantly upon Pearl, 
who turned white and red by turns. That young lady, rising 
with a dignified gesture, said: “The rich and distinguished 
Mr. Marshall, Dr. Norton’s nephew, you have heard spoken of 
so often, Genevieve.” 

“ Oh, indeed I” exclaimed the latter, with delight. 

“You met him with cousin Henry, I suppose, as he is a very 
intimate friend of his,” inquired Lottie, eagerly. 

“No: with the artist, Mr. Belknap,” answered Charles, a 
little sharply. 

“I did not know of their acquaintance. However, I shall 
have to bid you good-night, or the preceptress will put on one 
of her sweet looks, I fear;” and with an aftected little laugh she 
swept out. 

“ A perfect bundle of vanity,” said Charles. “ However, she 
isn’t worth talking about,” not appearing to notice the wither- 
ing look which Genevieve cast upon him. “ I was going to tell 
you before, little coz, had it not been for that chatterbox, that he 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


89 


is coming to visit us before his return. He inquired about you 
very interested!}^, too; and little Lu, here, I believe he men- 
tioned.” 

So Pearl had a light heart that night. Everything around 
her seemed to possess a hew attraction. The stars shone with 
an added lustre as she gazed from the window where she had 
seated herself to dream, and the wind through the naked 
boughs of the tree which shadowed it had a sound like music, 
when so many times before she had thought it sad and mourn- 
ful. What joy will not the presence of a loved one bring, and 
when gone what a sacred memory entwines each spot their 
presence has blessed. 

The next evening came and Pearl was left alone, for the 
family had gone to a concert; and although they urged her re- 
peatedly to accompany them, she declined, feeling unusually 
weary; and so, in the library, in the great crimson-cushioned 
chair, with the lamp turned down so as to cast a soft twilight 
over the room, she was lounging greatly at her ease, when a 
quick ring at the door bell caused her to spring to her feet. As 
the servant was below she attended the door herself, when be- 
fore her, in the dim star-light without, stood Paul Marshall. 
She uttered a cry of joy, and in a moment more was clasped to 
his true and noble heart. 

“I knew you were alone; Charlie told me so — just the way I 
wanted to meet, my darling, away from the gaze of curious 
eyes,” he said, as they entered the library, where they sat down 
side by side, renewing their vows of love, and talking over their 
projects for the future. 

Thus another happ}^ evening of Pearl’s life vanished info the 
never-returning past. Oh, how many times in the sunless future 
did she long for even one hour such as this. 

Two weeks passed away and Paul Marshall still lingered. 
Most of his time was spent in Pearl’s society, yet all the arts 
and wiles of Miss Stan wick were brought into’ play to win him 
from her side and gain his affections; but to her extreme mor- 
tification they once more proved in vain. 


12 


90 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


CHAPTER VIL 

“ Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 

Yet, with my nobler Reason, against my Fury, 

Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In Virtue than in Vengeance.” 

It is near the close of the second year of Pearl’s boarding- 
school life, which has become almost as monotonous as those 
days which seemed so long ago spent at home ; very little of in- 
terest occurring, and she longs for the change which the fulfil- 
ment of her promise to Grace will bring; for the term has nearly 
closed, and a letter has already carried the news of her intended 
visit to the inmates of Dr. Norton’s mansion. She is very busy 
just now trying to finish a fine landscape painting. The teacher 
had promised a prize to the pupil who displayed the best artistic 
talent, and great hope that she might be the favored one had 
inspired her with new vigor, for Charles and Lulu, and even 
Genevieve, had remarked that it was the best they had seen, 
and no doubt the prize would be hers. 

Just a stroke or two more — a dash of sunlight here and a little 
darker tint where that slight shadow falls upon the water, and 
it is finished. So taking it from the easel she hastened to the 
school-room, and finding no teacher there, placed the painting 
carefully on the desk and went to seek her. She proved to be 
assisting one of the scholars in solving an arithmetical problem, 
and it was fully twenty minutes before they returned to the 
school-room, when, behold! the first sight that met their eyes 
was the contents of an ink-bottle which had capsized, complete!}' 
disfiguring the whole beautiful picture. 

Pearl burst into tears: “Oh, Miss Beaumont, who could 
have done this mischief.^ It is too bad — too bad, when for 
weeks all my spare time I have worked so diligently to finish it.” 

“I can not tell, I am sure; but I will know if it is within the 
limits of possibility,” replied the teacher, while a frown dark- 
ened her brow. “ It certainly could not have capsized without 
hands. Have you no enemies among the scholars?” 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


91 


Pearl in a moment thought of Lottie, but, hardly believing 
one so proud w^ould stoop to so low an act. Said: “None, I 
hope, that would purposely do such a thing.” 

“ I am very sorry. Pearl ; and if I had only seen it before it 
was so badly defaced, and it had proved the best, the prize 
should have been yours. But I shall make inquiries, and if it 
lies in my power, find out the transgressor, and he shall receive 
a severe punishment.” Then Pearl, rising, took the picture and 
left the room. 

As she crossed the passage and descended the stairs. Lulu, 
her brow flushed with indignation, came bounding forward, ex- 
claiming, “ Oh, there you are. I have been seeking you this 
last twenty minutes, since I saw Lottie Stan wick perform that 
contemptible act in the school-room.” 

“Lottie Stan wick?” repeated Pearl. 

“Yes: Lottie Stan wick. I know all about it; for the door 
stood slightly ajar, and as I was passing I saw her pour the ink 
over vour sweet picture, and then place the bottle so as to cause 
any one to think it had capsized. I did not know whose paint- 
ing it was; but stopping in the next room until she had passed 
out and down the stairs, I entered and found it to be yours. 
Then I ran to seek you. I always thought she was a very 
wicked girl. Pll run right up and tell Miss Beaumont.” 

“No, no. Lulu, dear; although it grieves me very much — ” 
here a great sob prevented her speaking /or a moment — “ yet 
it will give me no pleasure to see her punished. So I entreat 
you not to betray her. You haven’t mentioned it to'any person, 
have you?” 

“ No. But it is a shame for such a proud girl to go unpun- 
ished.” 

“You will promise not to breathe it to any one, dear Lulu, 
for my sake?” 

“Yes, certainly, if you wish it; but how am I to avoid being 
quizzed?” 

“ Kind Providence will assist us in that matter, I trust ;” and 
fortunately the next day Lulu happened to be detained at home 
with a violent head-ache. 


92 


Pearl Trevehan; or^ 


Earnest inquiries were made in each department, requesting 
all who knew nothing about the affair to . stand upon their feet, 
which all did, Lottie included, though her face turned as red as 
scarlet. Pearl was purposely late, for she felt she could not sit 
still and act a lie, while Genevieve unconsciously saved Lulu, for 
notice being taken of her absence she was questioned, when 
she answered quickly and innocently, supposing naturally if her 
sister had known she would have mentioned it to her: “Lulu 
is home sick, and knows nothing about it.” 

So the subject was dropped. But the wicked girl was disap- 
pointed in winning the prize, for Charles was the favored one, 
and received a very elegantly bound Bible, filled with beautiful 
engravings ; and when our little heroine saw it she thanked God 
in her inmost heart that he had received not only the prize, t)ut 
“the pearl of great price,” and believed that all had happened 
for the best. 

School closed, and that day there came a letter from Grace say- 
ing that Dr. Norton’s carriage would meet Pearl at Moss Glen, 
in order that her ride should be less fatiguing. The prelimina- 
ries for her journey were gone through with, and, seating her- 
self in the great lumbering stage-coach, in a few hours reached 
Moss Cottage, her own loved home. 

Anthony and Ellen almost went into ecstacies at seeing their 
young mistress again, and the sight of their dear, kind, old faces 
was refreshing to Pearl, who had been so long among strangers, 
for she felt that indeed their hearts, at least, beat in genuine love 
and sympathy with hers as well as her beloved brother’s. 

Clara, whom she longed so to see, was away for a few days 
on a visit — so Ellen informed her. Each room had a dear, fa- 
miliar look. Her own little boudoir, with its snowy couch and 
curtains, and the library with its deep bay-window, were the 
same. Even the golden canary still hung in its accustomed 
place, and the dear, old harp, too, stood there in its cozy nook, 
and, approaching, she swept its cords with a few joyful strains. 
Then breaking into a song full of hope and love, woke the house 
with glad echoes, bringing Ellen’s jolly old face to the door, 
where she listened like one spell-bound. But just as her voice 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


93 


soared the highest, quivering on the air like that of a bird, just 
as the music of the harp rang out the most joyous, one of the 
strings snapped asunder. A tremor passed over Pearl in spite 
of herself, and the old woman, shaking her head, remarked: 

“Bad omen, bad omen, my dear, to have the chord break 
when ye war playing such cheering music. It seems that when 
we are the happiest there will always something come to spoil 
it all.” 

Pearl never allowed signs and omens to trouble her, but some- 
how this did seem ominous, while the old woman’s words served 
to increase the feeling of fear and dread which seemed to have 
settled upon her; but striving to look upon it only as an acci- 
dental occurrence, she swept the yet unbroken chords. This 
time the music sounded wild and strange, and, with broken spirits, 
after a few moments she placed it again in its accustomed nook. 

“How ye can play. Missy Pearl; sure goin’ oft' to school is 
goin’ to make a ’complished lady of ye. An’ how much longer 
is it afore ye ftnish?” 

“ Only one year, aunty.” 

“ Oh, well, it won’t be a great while then that Anthony and 
myself ’ll have to stay here alone. The days seem long with- 
out ye’re or Masther Claude’s bright faces, and now ye’re goin’ 
right on to-morrow. Law, ye won’t be with us at all, at aU.” 

“You know I must fulfill the promise made so long ago. I 
should dearly love to stay here for at least a week, but it is now 
too late. I have just been thinking how nicely every article is 
kept just as it used to be.” 

“Yes, Missy. I have kept every thing as near as I could as 
ye’re dear hands put it — placing every thing in the morning 
as though ye were coming at night, so the old place would 
look the same as ever.” 

“You are very kind, aunty,” said Pearl, the tears coming into 
her expressive eyes as she thought of the old woman’s love and 
devotion. 

Somehow she felt weary of the world and longed for the 
quiet of home once more. She wished to see those she loved, 
but if they would only come and spend the time at Moss Cottage, 


94 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or^ 


she was sure more enjoyment would be hers. But she was 
going to visit the abode of wealth and grandeur again, which 
she had so long reveled in at her Aunt’s, and she longed for the 
simplicity and home-like air of Moss Cottage. But when the 
carriage, the next morning, rolled up to the door, and Paul 
alighted and ran in to escort her out, she thought it was not so 
bad after all and very much enjoyed the ride, as every moment 
was occupied in talking of the past, present and future. Only one 
year now and she would be all his, and the joyous sunshine of 
love and hope shone round their hearts, illuminating the flowery 
path which lay between the now and then, transforming the 
latter into a realm of light and bliss. She gave herself up to 
the full enjoyment of his loving presence, when suddenly the re- 
membrance of the severed harp-chord and Ellen’s words passed 
through her mind: “When we are the happiest there will some- 
thing come to spoil it all,” and a dark shadow for a moment 
obscured the sunshine. She gave a deep sigh, which Paul ob- 
served, kindly asking the cause: “You appeared so happy but 
a moment ago, darling. Surely nothing could have occurred 
within the boundaries of the carriage to bring this cloud of 
sadness?” 

“No, no, dear Paul! I was only thinking of a circumstance 
which occurred yesterday and the words of Ellen, although I 
never allow such trivial things to affect me; yet in spite of my- 
self I can not entirely forget this;” and she related it to Paul. 

“Never fear, never fear, little darling; nothing shall — nothing 
can — come to mar our happiness. We will ever be true to each 
other, and remember that 

‘Nothing but death our aft'ection can sever;’ 

then in the other world we shall be united again, where, in- 
deed, our bliss will be complete.” 

These cheering words silenced her fears for the time, at least, 
and when the carriage rolled up in front of the imposing mansion 
of Dr. Norton, the ride had not been half long enough to the 
happy inmates. She was greeted with much affection by all, 
even to roguish Harry, who clung about her, and Belle, who 
covered her face with kisses, exclaiming, “Wh}^, you look just 


Virtue Reaps its Ow 7 i Reward. 95 

like dear Grace;” and as they heard the remark the Doctor 
said: 

“ There is indeed a marked resemblance between them, which 
struck me at the first glance.” 

Claude colored and turned quickly around to speak to Paul 
on some subject of no importance, while the two girls looked at 
each other, exchanging smiles, their thoughts evidently revert- 
ing back to the words of Clara that day at Moss Cottage. 

Everything was done to promote Pearl’s comfort and happi- 
ness during her stay. The picture gallery proving her especial 
delight, and the conservatory, library and music-room great 
sources of pleasure. 

One uncommonly warm, pleasant day, the family carriage was 
ordered and all went to ride in the park. Pearl was enraptured 
with the new sights that met her eye, and Grace proposed that 
they should spend a little time in strolling about at will. A 
large number were present to-day improving the fine weather, 
and the figure of a woman dressed in black, coming towards 
them strangely, attracted the attention of the two girls, who 
had strayed oft' together, locked arm in arm. As she came 
nearer, her glittering steel-black eyes turned full upon them, a 
tremor passed through the frame of each, and a deathly pallor 
overspread Pearl’s countenance, as the woman soliloquized, 
through her clenched teeth, though loud enough to reach the 
ears of the two girls: 

“ Merciful Heaven ! and there they are together at last !” 

“We must have been the ones she meant,” said Grace. 
“There is no one else near just now, and she so closely scrutin- 
ized us both.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Pearl, “I know it; I have seen her before.” 

“ But you look as though you were faint and frightened, too,” 
said Grace, noticing her pale face. “ Let us sit down here, and 
then tell me, please, where you have seen this weird woman.” 

The rustic seat looked inviting, and as no one happened to be 
near, Pearl related to her the whole story of the ride and visit 
to the haunted house, on the evening when they first saw 


96 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


each other, and also Ellen’s meeting with this same strange per- 
sonage. Grace listened with interest, then said: 

“There is some great mystery in this, or the woman is crazed. 
The latter I shall believe, for she never could have seen me be- 
fore, I’m certain, though she spoke just now as though she had, 
for she is a person one could not forget soon.” 

“Yes,” said Pearl, tremblingly, “but we won’t tell Claude of 
this; it would onl}^ cause him needless anxiety.” 

“You are right, dear Pearl. We will mention it to no one at 
present.” 

Just then the young gentlemen came up, and after a few mo- 
ments of conversation, the carriage with the Doctor’s family 
came along, when they entered and were whirled rapidly home. 

“ I fear something troubles you, dear brother,” said Pearl, as 
they were left alone in the drawing-room after tea. “ You seem 
so depressed; not like yourself at all.” * 

“ Oh, I have perplexities like every one else, little sister.” 

“But I fear there is something unusual. I wish to share in 
all your trials, which, I feel, should be my privilege.” 

Oh, how he longed to pour out his heart to her then, and re- 
lieve himself of this dreadful burden; but he must not — no, he 
could not — in a moment dash all the joy out of that young heart, 
extinguish all the light and hope that had found a place there, 
so with a forced smile, he said: 

“ Perhaps it is but your fancy. If I am changed, hard study 
and deep thought may have effected a slight alteration.” 

“ I sincerely hope there is nothing farther. When do you go 
to college?” 

“Very soon now. Doctor says my advancement has been 
rapid, owing much to the studies heretofore pursued at home.” 

“ I am really glad you are so far advanced, but I cannot help 
thinking that we shall be farther apart than ever.” 

“Yes, dear Pearl, we shall, indeed,” said Claude, with a sigh, 
inquiring within himself if some day it would not be still farther. 

“But instead of repining,” Pearl continued, “how thankful 
we should be to God for His manifold blessings and mercy. 
Think, dear brother, of that day so many months ago, when 


J Irtiic Rcafs its Own Reward. 


97 


that preemus burst of sunshine came to our heavy' hearts in the 
disguise of a letter. Even you had lost all hope then, and 
grown faint and weary. Those were dark days, Claude. 
When my own heart was bleeding I strove to hold out the lamp 
of hope to you, although in my own hand it faintly flickered, 
and that morning its light had almost vanished amid the thick 
clouds of despair; but behold! where are they scattered! To 
be sure they flit now and then across our pathway, but how few 
in comparison to the blessings God has continually showered 
upon us since that day.” 

“ Yes, Pearl, we have great reason to be thankful, I am sure ; 
but you know sometimes, when we hardly know it, clouds hover 
round, and ere we are aware the storm bursts suddenly and pit- 
ilessly upon us.r 

“Yes, brother; but how strangely you talk. No such storms 
will burst on us, I hope. Do you fear so?” 

“I hope otherwise, sister; but let us not feel ourselves too 
secure.” 

Just then the servant came in to light the lamps, interrupting 
their conversation, and a moment after Grace and Paul made 
their appearance, so the subject was dropped. But Pearl could 
not help wondering at the change in her brother. To find his 
habitual cheerfulness changed to sadness and dejection, just as 
he was about to enter upon a college life, which he had so 
greatly anticipated, filled her with apprehension of coming sor- 
row. Claude, perceiving that his depression had a saddening 
effect upon his sister, strove to appear his natural self once more, 
and succeeded so far as to disperse her fears and bring back the 
merriment and hilarity which had become habitual to her since 
released from the confinement of school. 

So time passed away in its usual routine until the afternoon 
immediately preceding the day of her departure. Wishing to 
visit the picture gallery once more, she wended her way thither 
alone. There hung the portraits of the family; then Grace’s, 
beautiful in its graceful drapery, a few German and Italian paint- 
ings, and some of our own sublime American scenery, among 
which was suspended a sketch of her dearly loved home — Moss 

13 


98 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


Cottage. A few steps in advance and what meets ker eye? 
The picture of a young girl, robed in white, sitting on the bank 
of a moonlit lake, an arch-work of dark green leaves above, 
and a tiny boat rocking idly at her feet. A picture of herself on 
that well-remembered night, and well did she know who was 
the artist. The face was sad but he had left out the tears. 

“Ha, ha!” laughed a voice in the door-way. “Isn’t that a 
charming mirror. Pearl? Do vou not see a reflection of vour- 
self?” 

“I think I do, and a very correct one, I should judge,’* she 
replied, laughing and blushing at the same time; “though I can 
hardly say I am in the same place or position at present. Pra}’ 
tell me, why have I not seen this before?” 

“For the reason that it is only just completed. 1 thought I 
would give you a little surprise, and when you are gone I shall 
still have that sweet face before me. But it must not remain 
here for other eyes to gaze upon. Come with me and we will 
together place it where it shall be my guardian angel during my 
dreams by night and day;” and leading her into a large, nicely 
furnished room adjoining his studio, containing a couch draped 
in snowy white, he placed it where, in the early morning, his 
eyes would fall upon it when he awoke; then drawing her to a 
seat near the window, he said: 

“To-morrow you leave us. Oh, the house will be like a tomb 
when you are gone. You should never more leave me were it 
not for that other year at school. I would claim you now for 
my own little treasure of a wife. I have hardly the courage to 
meet the long days and months that must intervene without 
you; but I am making you gloomy.” 

“Not your words alone, dear Paul; but I have been thinking: 
what if we should never meet again, and all the bright hopes 
of the present vanish amid the darkness of the untried future? 
What if aught should transpire to separate us, would ^^ou forget 
these happy hours and the one who has spent them with you?” 

“Forget? no, never, my darling, till the sun forgets to shine 
and the flowers to bloom. Oh, if you knew the depth of love 
within my heart you would never speak the word forget ! x\nd 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


99 


here again I vow before you, that let come what will, even a 
final separation, Paul Marshall will ever be true to his early 
love.” He said this kneeling at her feet, while his beautiful eyes 
spoke volumes he could not utter. “The ruby still gleams upon 
your finger, my darling,” he continued, “and while you retain 
it uncalled for,' remember I am yet unchanged. I shall ever re- 
main the same, even though Pearl Trevelyan prove false. It 
shall never be removed b}^ any request of mine until death seals 
my lips forever; but I know you will ever be to me the same 
true-hearted little girl. Say ‘yes,’ just once, here in the twi- 
light, won’t you?” and his blue eyes seemed searching her very 
soul, so earnest and penetrating were they. 

“Yes, yes; forever, forever!” she murmured. 

“ But do not let such sad forbodings fill your mind, my darl- 
ing, as there did just now. I know, I feel that we shall walk 
the flowery path of life together. Should it be otherwise, I 
would not care to live ;” and then rising they went down — down 
where other eyes could meet theirs, and other lips murmur 
words which fell with little meaning, as they sat dreaming over 
again the vows just spoken, and looking forward with dread to 
the morrow’s separation. 

A gloom seemed to hang over the place when our young 
friend bade each an affectionate farewell and took her departure, 

while the journey to L proved a sad and tedious one, though 

she dreamed over and over again the events of her visit — the 
words he had spoken — the vows he had renewed — which af- 
forded much pleasure; but withal a strange sadness depressed 
her spirits. Would they ever meet again? But why fear? Only 
one twelve-month, and he would claim her for his own. Surely 
she should look forward with great joy that the blessed time 
was so near at hand; but to-day, somehow, this one year looked 
longer than the three had in the hopeful days of the past. How- 
ever, she reached L at an early hour and was greeted very 

affectionately by all, which served to dispel some of the gloom 
which depressed her. Lottie, also, had returned, and it being 
her last term at school, was to board at the Trevelyan’s. She 
was unusually gracious to Pearl, and as Genevieve and herself 


lOO Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

roomed together, consequent!}^ Pearl and Lulu shared the same 
apartment. This pleased the latter very much, and Pearl, al- 
though many times wishing to be alone, on the whole was very 
glad of Lulu’s company; and many a long winter evening they 
spent together in their room by the side of the cheerful, blazing 
fire, talking as young girls will, sometimes of the past, but 
oftener building air-castles in the far-off sunny future. Pearl, in 
the meantime, striving, by her example and words of Christian 
counsel, to lead Lulu to a life of piet}’. A lasting impression was 
made, while her prayers and entreaties proved not to be in vain, 
for Lulu was brought to the Savior through that winter’s asso- 
ciation and close companionship with her gentle cousin. 

Thus we see the importance of sowing the seed during the 
present opportunity; though years may be required to bring it 
forth and ripen it to maturity. Often, without the utterance of a 
word, patient endurance and a life of faithful adherence to the 
principles of the Bible, will lead some poor wandering sinner 
from the path of error to that of wisdom, and be instrumental 
in accomplishing much good. 

Charles, encouraged by his success at school, proved himself 
quite an artist, as the numerous paintings that adorned the walls 
indicated, and one of a lovely scene in Switzerland he had pre- 
sented to Pearl, hung in a conspicuous place in her room, oppo- 
site the recent reproduction, by Pearl herself, of the ink-stained 
painting, which far excelled the former, and was much com- 
plimented by all who gazed upon it. 

Mrs. Trevelyan led a life of gaiety and fashion surpassed by 
none, giving parties and receiving invitations among the elite: 
Genevieve and Lottie participating with the zest of two voung, 
proud and fashionable misses; Lulu and Charles often joining, 
but Pearl very seldom left her room. Such occasions she 
sometimes hailed with delight, as she was then left more to her- 
self, spending the time frequently in reperusing loving letters 
from Paul and Claude, the latter being now in college; or, as 
she sat with no light but the cheering lire, the sound of the 
music floating up from the lower rooms would bear her on its 
waves of harmony far away to Paul and the dreamy past, where. 


Virtue Reti'ps its Ozvn Reward. 


lOI 


lost to all else, Lulu would find her when at a late hour she 
would seek their room to retire. 

It was an unusually lovely day in the early spring, and the 
sun hung low in the sky. The close of the term had come 
again, and that night there was to be a grand soiree at the house 

of one of the elite of L , to which the Trevelyans and their 

friends were invited. All were going — even Pearl had 3fielded 
to Lulu’s entreaties, and a beautiful fabric of mellow pink — her 
favorite color — fashionably made, with rich lace and ruffles, lay 
on the sofa in her own room, just returned from the mantua- 
makers, which she could not refrain from looking upon admir- 
ingly, when Genevieve entered in great agitation, inquiring, “ I 
have lost one of my bracelets. Pearl; have you seen it?” 

“No, cousin; not since yesterday morning, on your drawing 
table;” and rising she began to assist in the search. 

“Oh, dear,” said Genevieve, as all proved of no avail, “I 
might have known it was not in here. It is always so when 
there is an}^ great partv in prospect. I never knew it to fail;” 
and Hitting out of the room in a petulant mood, slammed the 
door. 

Pearl was very sorry for the proud girl, knowing that if the 
article was not found the evening’s enjoyment would be partially 
destroyed for her, as one like it was difficult to be obtained; but 
having a few extra stitches to make, went on busity with her 
preparations. Lulu soon came in, and the two were nearly 
ready, when there came a murmuring of voices, a rap at the 
door, and at Pearl’s bidding, Lottie and Genevieve entered, 
dressed alike, in the height of style, in white grenadine over 
silk of cerulean hue, trailing after them like royal robes. 

“ Pearl, dear, I came in to see if you would be so kind as to 
lend me your blue fan for the evening? It matches Genevieve’s 
so nicely,” said Lottie. 

“ Certainly,” replied Pearl, glad to grant even her a favor, and 
unlocking her trunk and raising the lid, opened a small box, 
and lifting the fan placed it in Lottie’s hand, when Genevieve 
exclaimed, almost with a shriek: 

“ Oh! there’s my bracelet!” and springing to the trunk, raised 


102 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


it from another apartment of the same box which contained 
the fan. “There! Pearl Trevelyan knew where it was all the 
time — you hateful thing! In your haste to serve Lottie 3^ou for- 
got where you had concealed it, I suppose.” 

“ Did you ever see the like ?” said Lottie, with a significant 
glance. 

Even Lulu looked astonished, and whispered: “I never 
thought it.” 

And what of Pearl during all these exclamations, intimating 
that she was a thief? Pale as death, she sat like one struck 
dumb with unutterable grief and amazement. Then a flush of 
indignation mounted to her brow as the truth flashed across her 
mind that some enem\" had placed it there to brand her char- 
acter with the terrible stigma of thief. Taking her paleness 
and silence as a proof of guilt, the^^ gazed upon her with a look 
of impudent inquir}^, saying plainly as words can: “No defense 
will change our opinion, but we are read\^ to hear what pos.sible 
apology you can make.” Controlling her emotion as best she 
could, though a slight tremor was discernable through her voice 
when she spoke: 

“ I suppose no words of mine will satisfy \'ou ; but God above, 
who knoweth all things, is m\" witness, that I know not how the 
bracelet came there, and had not seen it until Genevieve took it 
from the box. I can account for it in no other way than that 
some evil-disposed person — I will not judge who, though I have 
my suspicions — has placed it there to injure my reputation.” 

“ Y ou are right in thinking what you can say will amount to 
no possible ::ood, for the evidence of your guilt is too strong,” 
said Lottie, unfeelingty. 

“So I think,” said Genevieve, and placing her arm within 
Lottie’s, the two swept scornfulty from the room. 

“But yon surely do not think so mean of me, dear Lulu?” 
said Pearl, bursting into tears and throwing her arms around 
the lithe form of the young girl. 

Slightty repelling her, she said : “ I do not wish to believe it ; 

but I can not help wondering how the bracelet' came in your 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 103 

trunk when no one else had the key but yourself. It looks very 
much against you, I must admit.” 

As these cold, unexpected words fell upon the ear of the 
deeply injured girl, a chill swept over her, and reeling back like 
one stunned by a heavy blow, sank into a chair. Great waves 
of agony welled up from her heart; but they froze in their up- 
ward passage — she could not shed another tear. 

“Oh! Lulu, Lulu! and you, too, have turned against me. 
Oh, my God! this seems more than I can bear!” and rising, she 
walked to and fro, wildly ringing her hands, then seeking the 
farthest corner, she sank upon the carpet, her dress enveloping 
her beautiful form like sea-billows that had caught the loveliest 
hue of sunset, and moaned pitifully, bitterly, as though all the 
misery of her life were crowded into this one hour. 

“You will rumple your beautiful dress, crouching there in 
that manner,” said Lulu. “ You forget it is nearly time for the 
carriage to come.” 

“ My dress is but a secondary affair, now that my once un- 
tainted character is so cruelly injured; besides, do not once think 
that I shall attend the party under present circumstances.” 

“Very well, observe your own mind; however, ! will tender 
your regrets, and on my return hope to find you in a better state 
of mind. I am quite sure Genevieve will overlook this. There, 
I hear voices in the hall. I believe the carriage has arrived;” 
and closing the door hurriedly, she left Pearl alone in her in- 
tense grief 

“Overlook this!” What a mockery! What mattered it, if in 
their hearts they still cherished the belief that she was a thief? 
Nothing she had ever suftered compared with this. Her 
haughty aunt would believe it, she was sure; but Charles — 
dear, noble Charles — would he, too, leave her amid this severe 
storm of adversity, with no earthly arm to sustain her? She 
hardly dared hope; for had not Lulu, whom she thought so 
true? Brother Claude would never believe her guilty, she was 
certain; but should she write all to him? Would this not add 
to the apparently heavy burden weighing on his mind when last 
they met? Although it might ^fibrd her much relief, yet she 


would endure this blighting trial alone, and sometime, perhaps, 
her innocence might be proven. And last, but not least, came 
Paul. Ah! her heart sank within her now. If the knowl- 
edge came to his ears, was it not possible that he might believe 
it? He, of all others? Her life would be ruined! ruined! 
Everv bright prospect darkened! every hope blasted forever! 
The tears came now: and throwing herself on the couch, she 
wept and sobbed violently. After a few moments she rose, and 
kneeling, poured out a heartfelt prayer to God that He would 
be her support through this fiery ordeal, direct her every action, 
and prove her innocence in His own good time, making even 
her enemies to be at peace with her ; then lighting a small lamp, 
she sat down and wrote to Paul the circumstance, from the be- 
ginning, entreating him to be her friend; stating her certaint}" 
that he would be, and that while he was still true, her own con- 
science and the support of her Heavenly Father would be suffi- 
cient to inspire her with new life, though all others turned against 
her. She had scarcely finished when she heard Charles’ voice 
outside, asking to enter. She assented, and as he came in the 
look of tender pit}^ on his countenance told her he knew all. She 
burst into tears. 

Oh, Charles, dear cousin, I entreat you, tell me, tell me, have 
I a friend in 3"OU, or not?” 

“ Yes, dear Pearl. Lulu told me all, and I could not rest a mo- 
ment until I saw 3^ou. It ma\^ have been rude, but I could re- 
main no longer. I want to tell 3’ou that I do not believe ^^ou 
took the bracelet, and never will. Some one must have ob- 
tained a false key and placed it there to injure }^ou.” 

“Thank God, dear Charles! Still the same! ‘ Your friend- 
ship will be doubly valued now.” • 

“ How is it possible for me to believe it? Is not 3"our Chris- 
tian character well known to me? You have saved me from 
ruin, perhaps from the darkest fate ever known b3^ man ! for what 
will not intemperance lead to? And shall I turn against you now? 
No, never! never! though the strongest proof be ofiered. 
While Pearl Trevel3^an declares her innocence, my firm trust in 
her truth shall not be shaken.” 


J "irUie Reaps its Own Rewaj^d. 


105 

Oh, Charles, dear, cousin Charles, you know not what com- 
fort your words afford me. May God bless you, as I do.” 

“ I came near forgetting that I have a note for you from Clara. 
It came enclosed in mine,” said Charles. 

Pearl took it eagerly, and soon devoured its contents, being 
very brief, as Clara was very busy making preparations — for 
what? that which pleased Pearl exceedingly — for attending 
school next term at L . 

“ Capital!” she said, the glad tears shining in her eyes. “ Now 
I shall have a friend indeed. Board at the Widow Brown’s has 
been already engaged by a wealthy uncle of hers, who passed 
through here little less than a week ago, who has kindly con- 
sented to pay her tuition and wait until she can return it by her 
o\^’n industr}’. And now, I think, Charles, that it is best for me 
to engage board there also, as my stay here would cause many 
unpleasant feelings, and prove disagreeable in the extreme.” 

“ I shall be very sorry to have you leave us, and under such 
sad circumstances, too; but you know best where you would 
be most happy and content; therefore, I will not interfere,” said 
Charles, sadly. “Have you thought who the person can be 
that has so shamefully treated you? . I believe it is that wicked, 
heartless girl, Lottie Stanwick.” 

“‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’” said Pearl, gently re- 
proving him. “I dare not say what my thoughts are, fearing 
that I am mistaken ; and it seems so dreadful to accuse an inno- 
cent person wrongfully.” 

“You are right, cousin; and I hope I shall profit by your ex- 
ample. I will bid you good-night, now', with an added assur- 
ance that you will ever find Charles Trevelyan a true and faith- 
ful friend.” 

“Thanks, a thousand thanks! Good-night;” and the door 
closed after his retreating form, leaving Pearl in her loneliness 
once more; though his presence and words had somewhat re- 
moved her depression, as had also the letter from her dear 
friend, Clara. 

Lulu came in at a late hour, and, as Pearl had already re- 
tired, nothing was said between them for the night. In the 

14 


io6 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


morning she arose long before Lulu, and strolling down to 
the Widow Brown’s, who lived in a neat little villa in the sub- 
urbs, found no trouble in securing board, and quite? fell in love 
with its jolly mistress. 

The inmates of Trevelyan Hall were somewhat surprised at 
her sudden departure, yet hardl}^ expressed regret; and only a 
day or two subsequent to the foregoing occurrence, she finds 
herself safely located in a snug little dressing-room at Widow 
Brown’s. 

At the commencement of the term came Clara, and as may 
be supposed, the meeting between the two friends was a joyous 
one. Every event which had transpired since they last met was 
narrated; and Pearl had never seen her friend in such a par- 
oxysm of rage as when the story of the bracelet was told. She 
grew almost frantic at the insult offered to Pearl, and did not 
hesitate to express her opinion that Lottie Stanwick had perpe 7 
trated the foul act. Her disposition was usually mild — not easily 
aroused; but in her love and friendship, true as steel; resenting 
an injury to a friend quicker than one to herself; loving an ob- 
ject with the whole strength of her nature; noble and self-sac- 
rificing in the extreme. Pearl was beginning to fully realize her 
worth — wisely coming to the conclusion that all should not be 
judged by Lottie’s standard; that because one heart was cor- 
rupted by pride, envy and selfishness, it did not necessarily 
follow that all must be ; so during those spring days she un- 
bosomed herself to Clara, telling her every little joy and sorrow, 
all her hopes for the future, as well as fears ; while Clara would 
rejoice or weep with her as the case might be. Consequently, 
with such mutual love and sympathy existing between them, 
their lives became more firmly knit together by ties which earth 
could not sever — that of true friendship and sisterly affection. 

The story of the theft was rarely mentioned now, dying down 
as such stories usually do. Although it weighed heavily on her 
mind, as she often found herself the subject of numerous slights 
occasioned by it, yet another thing caused her far more uneasi- 
eess, and gave her no rest day nor night. No letter had come 
from Paul in reply to hers. Why was it, oh! why was it? Did 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 107 

he believe the charge brought against her? This would be 
worse than death. Perhaps some one had written besides her- 
self and influenced him against her. 

“ He is not worthy of you, darling, if he places no more con- 
fidence than that in his betrothed, and believes her guilty of 
such an act,” Clara had said when she told her of his apparent 
neglect. 

She could not help thinking that her words were true, and 
that it might be she ought to begin to unlearn the lesson of 
love and bury the past in forgetfulness; but oh! how vain the 
trial; how utterly impossible. She could easier lay down and 
die; yes, let her life-blood ebb away slowty, drop by drop. 

One afternoon Pearl, Genevieve and several other young 
ladies remained later than usual to recite their French lesson, 
when, as they arose to go, Genevieve exultingly remarked to a 
friend — very desirous, in the meantime, that Pearl should hear, 
which she did, distinctly: 

“They say Paul Marshall has been in town, only remained 
one night, and has left for some foreign part, I learn.” 

Pearl turned away that Genevieve might not observe the 
eftect, but she trembled like an aspen, while her face turned as 
pale and rigid as marble. Walking unsteadily home like one in 
a strange, bewildering dream, she sought the little room, also 
shared by Clara, who now sat engaged in reading, and looking 
up as the door opened, became thoroughly alarmed at the hag- 
gard, unnatural appearance of her friend. 

“Oh! Clara, Clara, I wish I was dead! Why did I not die 
ere this dreadful knowledge came to me? Would to God I 
had! Anything but this! anything but this! Oh, kill me! kill 
me! or I shall go mad!” and sinking beside Clara, she buried 
her face in her hands, and, sobbing violently, rocked wildly to 
and fro in her agony. 

“What has happened? tell me, dear Pearl, what has caused 
this dreadful change?” inquired Clara, endeavoring to soothe 
Her; but she answered not; only kept on sobbing and moaning 
piteously, like a lone bird bereft of its mate, until wholly over- 
come by grief, she fell a dead weight at Clara’s feet. Restora- 


io8 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


lives were applied, which soon brought her to conscious’:ess, 
and looking round, bewildered, she said: 

“What was it; what was it, Clara? Oh, I remember now, 
and I did not tell you, did I ? Paul has been here, darling, and 
gone again. Genevieve said so. I have felt there was some- 
thing wrong when no letter came, and what is life worth to me 
now ? Can you tell me, Clara ? If Charles had onh^ been here, 
it might have been different; or, at least, he might have known 
what caused this strange neglect.” 

“Yes, it is a pity he should have been away at this particular 
time; but I am sure there is some mistake; he would not thus 
have forsaken you.” 

“No, no; it is all too true, too true! He did not write. I 
might have known.” 

All that night long she tossed restlessly, murmuring wildly, 
and the next morning found her in a burning fever and raving 
deliriously. Clara immediately wrote to Claude, then at Dr. 
Norton’s, and as soon as possible he stood within the sick room 
of his sister. He looked ver}^ sad and careworn, and shaking 
his head doubtfully, said: 

“Violent attack. Nerves over-taxed. Some anguish of the 
mind greatly the cause, I should judge;” then dealing out some 
medicine, and fixing his eyes upon Clara searchingly, he in- 
quired: “You are my sister’s dearest friend. Tell me, do you 
know whether anything has disturbed her of late?” 

She hesitated a moment, then deeming it for the best, told the 
whole truth. “ But I hope there is some mistake,” added Clara. 

“ I think not,” replied Claude. “ He has gone to Europe, and, 
to tell you the truth, I feared something was wrong: for a few 
weeks ago he received a letter, and it seemed to aftect him 
strangely. He was changed from that time. All his gayetv 
fled; not a smile could be called forth even by the most witty: 
and the depression, so unusual to him, occasioned manv re- 
marks. Lottie Stan wick was* there making a short visit, and 
ga}" parties were held, hopeful of raising his spirits: but all 
failed ; and before her departure he left us, stating that he should 
visit this place, then embark for Europe. Poor child; poor. 


Virtue Reafs its Owu Reward. 109 

dear Pearl. I little thought she would be the subject of such 
cruel neglect;” and bowing his head on his hands he remained 
silent for a long time. 

“The term closes to-morrow,” said Clara, “then I shall be 
able to take the charge of her continually.” 

“I am truly glad,” said Claude, “as I know she will then 
have the best of attention, while you shall be duly rewarded.” 

For weeks the sable drapery of death hung round that cham- 
ber of sickness. Pearl suffered fearfully; calling on Paul, en- 
treating him to come back just once more, that she might tell 
him she did not take the bracelet — she was not a thief, God 
knew it. “Oh! don’t leave me for that!” she cried. “They 
all believe it; but I didn’t; oh, I didn’t. Come back; oh, come 
back. God ! — sweet Savior ! — bring him back ! She put it there, 
I know she did.” And thus she would rave for hours and hours, 
tossing her arms frantically, and staring wildly about. 

As Clara feared, Claude inquired, though rather unconcern- 
edly, thinking it was some phantasy of a diseased brain, if there 
was any real meaning connected with her wild words about the 
bracelet. Seeing no possible way to avoid it, she beckoned him 
aside and narrated the whole circumstance. His anger and re- 
sentment were hardly containable. He walked to and fro in 
great agitation, his face livid, his lips tightly compressed as 
though struggling with a mighty effort to suppress his passion ; 
then seating himself, bowed his head upon his hand and groaned 
aloud : 

“Poor child! poor child! No wonder she is mad with fever. 
She kept it from me — would not let me share the trial — for fear 
the anguish it might cause, you said. Oh, would that I had 
known it, she might have been spared all this. Now, I fear, it 
is too late, too late. And those, her accusers, may God show 
them what they have done, and prove to them her innocence, is 
my prayer. Poor child! poor little Pearl!” and he wept like a 
very child. 

Counsel had been held with an eminent physician from a dis- 
tant city, and his encouraging words, that every thing had been 


no Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

and was being done that could be for her recovery, gave Claude 
new hope. 

One fine evening the crescent moon hung low in the sky, the 
stars twinkled brightly, and a slight breeze folded back the 
snowy curtains of the window and kissed the burning brow of 
the sufferer, as she lay in a deep sleep among the luxurious pil- 
lows. The crisis of the disease had arrived, and the awakening 
would determine whether for life or death. The Widow Brown 
was there, though her usually merry countenance was very se- 
rious; also Charles and Lulu, the former sitting beside Clara 
trying to allay her fears by whispered words of hope and con- 
solation, though his own heart, indeed, was almost hopeless; 
while the countenance of Lulu had an expression of deep sor- 
row, not unmingled with remorse. Claude sat beside the still 
form on the couch, his head bowed, while hot, burning tears 
coursed through his fingers. All waited breathlessly. Mo- 
ments seemed hours. Oh, this cruel suspense! The sufferer 
made a slight movement, then opened her eyes. A joyous ex- 
clamation from Claude told the glad news. The light of rea- 
son beamed therefrom — she was saved! 

“Now,” said the young doctor, “the least excitement must be 
avoided, and attention paid to the most careful nursing.” 

“That shall be my part,” said Clara, joyfully; then approach- 
ing Pearl, who looked at her longingly, took the small, ema- 
ciated hand in her own, and stooping, softly imprinted a kiss on 
her pale brow. 

“ Oh, Clara, dear Clara, where have I been since that dread- 
ful night? It seems just like a horrid dream.” 

“Hush, hush, darling; do not excite yourself now; rest, and 
when you get strong enough I will tell you.’^ 

So turning her head on the pillow like a tired child, she closed 
her eyes again, while each one quietly left the apartment, ex- 
cepting Clara, who stayed beside her, taking up the duties of 
nurse with far more hope, thank God, than in the past, though 
with a greater degree of responsibility; feeling that upon her 
tender care depended her friend’s final recovery; and from that 
period she began rapidly to improve. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


Ill 


Meanwhile the praises of the young doctor’s success sounded 
far and near. “ Dr. Claude has made his fame and fortune, I 
believe, in performing this wonderful cure,” said the Widow 
Brown. “ The child has been dreadful sick. I never thought 
she’d live. It seems like a miracle.” 

“Yes,” said a neighbor, who had just dropped in, “and I hear 
the past winter is the first of his collegiate course.” 

“Remarkable!” said another, “he must have been very dili- 
gent in his studies.” 

So when the young collegian, leaving his sister convalescent, 
and feeling that his presence would be no more needed, returned 
to Dr. Norton’s, it was with a lighter heart than he had known 
for months. All were there, even Grace, to grasp his hand and 
congratulate him on his arrival. So hope, again, began to dawn 
upon his pathway. Grace was the guiding star of his life now. 
Every hope of success in the future, every joy of the present, 
was poured into her willing, sympathizing ear; for the winning, 
sisterly manner with which she always treated him, drew him 
unintentionally to her. The subject of love and matrimon}^ 
was never discussed, however; and though many times he 
would read aloud from the difterent poets, in his deep, rich tones, 
yet when occasionally he would come upon a striking poet- 
ical expression, that would seem to unveil his soul to her, and 
speak the very words that sometimes almost trembled forth, he 
would cast, through the warm, thrilling tones, a cold and icy 
current, that she might not divine the inmost feelings of his 
heart, which were almost overcoming him with their intensity, 
and the bitter struggle it required to suppress them ; albeit he 
succeeded well, for, though Grace Nellisse believed him to be 
her true and devoted friend, she dared not dream he loved her ; 
she would not cultivate the flowers of hope only to see them 
wither and die ; yet one little bud had its germ way down in the 
secluded recess of her heart, hardly known to herself now, 
which, should it be blasted, would awake her to the sad reality. 

Nothing had been heard from her father, and she had utterly 
given him up as dead. Unconsciously she clung to Claude, 
there being such a great similarity between them, particularly 


II2 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


in intellectual pursuits, as well as their love of the beautiful, both 
in nature and art. The old-time guyety of spirit had come back 
to her once more, the old brilliancy to her beautiful eyes — the 
bright color to her cheeks, and that habitual look of sorrow had, 
in a great measure, vanished; but never, until his absence at 
college, did she realize how essential his mere presence was 
to her happiness. Every thing wore a gloomy aspect, even 
those apartments she had thought could not be surpassed in 
beauty, for the great light of the house had gone out with 
Claude Trevelyan. When he again returned she felt as though 
she had grown years older in experience; the girl, in those few 
short months, had ripened into the thoughtful woman, hoping, 
yet fearing; longing for and yet dreading his presence; for that 
which comes to all, at least once in a life-time, had come to her. 
He perceived the slight constraint in her manner towards him, 
and hardly knew what to attribute it to. It naturally tended to 
sadden him, added to the weight already on his mind; and when 
the news of his sister’s illness reached him, it altogether seemed 
very hard to bear. But his success, and the free and delighted 
manner with which Grace greeted him on his return, cheered 
his heart once more. She evinced great interest in the welfare 
of Pearl, expressing much joy on learning how rapidly she was 
improving, which highly pleased Claude. Had it been once, 
she would immediately have Flown to her side, but the natural 
fear and timidity of a young heart in its first love, restrained 
her ; besides, he might guess the truth, and his knowledge of her 
forwardness in bestowing her affections unasked would be too 
humiliating. Yet his manner was almost loving sometimes, she 
fancied; then the thought came that perhaps he loved her and 
dare not speak because of her wealth and high position in so- 
ciety; this caused the restraint to be partially thrown off' and 
more freedom assumed in her manner towards him, which he 
had observed on his return. This one little thought, perhaps, 
proved instrumental in changing the tenor of two lives. 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward, 


113 


CHAPTER VIIL 

“ I, alone^ am left on earth ! 

To whom nor Relative nor Blood remains, 

No!— not a kindred drop that runs in human veins.” 

— Campbell. 

It is a night in the early autumn. The green leaves are 
banded with gold and scarlet, tiny zephyrs stir them gently and 
fan the pale brow of a lovely young girl who sits on the grass 
beneath a great maple, her head thrown back against its brown, 
sturdy trunk, her eyes gazing up into its heart of green streaked 
with blood-red, and one small, white hand placed idly upon the 
pages of a testament which she had evidently been reading. It 
is our friend Pearl. She has wandered out here alone with this 
most comforting of books, and now sits in deep thought. She 
has hardly gained her natural strength since her illness, but has 
commenced her last term at school. It all seemed like one long, 
sad, strange dream to her, as though she had closed her eyes 
upon a world of hope and happiness to open them again only on 
one joyless and despairing. God pity her! Sad indeed is her. 
life, having thus early to feel the bitter sting of disappointment. 
Her features are expressive of a quiet submission ; but there is 
a deep shadow of pain in the large violet eyes, while faint lines 
of sorrow can be seen upon the pure brow and around the sweet 
mouth. She is dreaming now of that morning she spent . • 

three long, weary years ago. Oh ! how fresh does it arise in her 
memory ; and only one little treasure does she possess that links 
her to that never-forgotten past: the ruby ring. Thank God, 
it gleamed upon her finger yet where his hand had placed it. 
The only shadow of a hope now, and scarcely that ; but had not 
Paul Marshall said that while it there remained he was still true 
to her.^ yet how was it possible, when he had so heartlessly for- 
saken her — gone, yes, go7te — without sign or word? And so 
every scene where they had met passed vividly before her. She 
lives over again those sweet hours passed in his presence — the 
18 


Pearl Trevelvan; o?% 


114 

ride to Dr. Norton’s — the night when her picture was hung 
where his beautiful e3^es alone could gaze upon it, and their re- 
newed vows. Then comes back to her, like a bitter sting, what 
Clara had learned from Claude of the letter, Paul’s strange ap- 
pearance, subsequently Lottie’s visit, and Paul’s departure. The 
letter must have been her own; and, oh, heavens! he had be- 
lieved the dreadful charge. This was the bitterest drop in 
the cup of sorrow. If aught else had been the cause she could 
have borne it better. Wh3^did the3" not let her die ere she 
knew of this? Wh3q wh3^ did they tiy to save a life for which 
she cared so little? No wonder the harp-string broke in the 
midst of most jo3'ful song. Her own heart-strings were one b3^ 
one being riven, and ere long the last, last one that bound her 
to life would break and set her free from this cruel bondage. 
She thought she had conquered this wild wish to die, but the 
pain that had wrung her heart to-night made her long for it 
more than before,' and lifting a heart-felt pra3^er to God that He 
would take awa3^ such wicked desires and be to her a loving, 
supporting Father through this vale of sorrow, she arose and 
wended her way SI0WI3" homeward. How many a wear3^ earth- 
traveler hnds the threads of hope and life slowty breaking one 
by one, while the cup of bitterness is drained to the veiy dregs 
and not a beam of light illuminates the darkness of his night of 
woe. But look to God. 

*“ Art thou alone and does thy soul complain 
It lives in vain. 

Not vainly does he live who can endure^ 

‘ O be thou sure 

That he who hopes and suffers here can earn 
A sure return. 

Has thy soul bent beneath earth’s heavy load, 

Look thou beyond 
If life is bitter— there forever shine 
Hopes more divine.” 

And now, dear reader, no better can I narrate the progress 
of events for a time than ly a few extracts from Pearl’s journal: 

“September 20. 

“Yes, it is autumn again, and with it comes the memoiy of 
that autumn three long 3^ears ago. How far awa3^ the3’' seem. 
Happ3% happ3^ da3"s, like a dim, uncertain dream, and 3^et the3^ 


*A. Proctor. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 1 1 5 

were reality — they were reality^ can it be? but it is all, all gone! 
Earthly happiness is no more for me. 

“ ‘ ’Tis past, 'tis gone, that dream of a moxn. 

And I move as a thing apart 
From the joys of summei', of life, of love, 

Cold winter is in my heart.’ 

“ How these autumn odors carry me back among the scenes 
of long-ago to the : sheltered nook by the lake where we 
sat so oft together, among the shadows and beneath the twink- 
ling stars, with one of his arms wound round me and my hand 
clasped in his. One night I sung to him the soul-thrilling song 
‘Lorena,’ little dreaming the words would sometime so well 
apply to Paul Marshall and myself. Shall we ever meet again? 
God grant it. Shall I be surrounded by this same sad, blighting 
spell, until these autumn days are passed? Yes, I know it — I feel 
it — and it will not be over then — no, but will continue on forever 
and forever, casting a dark impenetrable pall over my life, and 
dragging me down to the grave. If I were there I would not 
mind it; but it is the thorny path I shrink from, for I can not 
forget — I can not forget. God help me. I am so weak and 
cowardly amid the strife.” 

“October 16. 

“ Clara has just gone out, leaving me alone. She is prosper- 
ing finely in learning, and I am really excited almost to envy 
when I think that her boarding-school life has hardly more than 
begun, while this is my last term. What will I do when the 
dull, monotonous home-life begins once more — when I am placed 
among those scenes which 1 have not visited since that night 
when I heard Genevieve speak the dreadful truth that almost 
snapped the brittle thread that held my life ? Do I wish it had ? 
Yes, yes, sometimes. I look far away on the velvety hill-side 
and wish that I slept far beneath it. I long for the grave’s sweet 
rest, for I am weary, weary — weary of life and its trials. A 
moment’s leisure brings such sad thoughts. Why must they 
come? 1 did not intend they should. I meant to bury them 
forever from my memory in the grave of the past ; but alas ! how 
vainly. They will break from their prison-house and come to 
torment me — to tear my heart and set the old wounds to bleed- 


ii6 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

ing. I have striven to forget those days of sunshine and happi- 
ness — forget there ever could be such in a life-time ; but I can not, 
I can not. I had a letter from brother Claude to-day. He writes 
that he meets with unexpected success in all of his endeavors. 
I am truly thankful. Perhaps the old, sad look will be gone from 
his face when we meet again. What should I do without his 
priceless love? But how changed are our lives from the old-time 
life when we lived continually together in our dear cottage-home ! 
Even those times will never come again. Oh! if they could, it 
seems that I could almost forget there had ever been a change, 
and blot it out as I would an unpleasant dream. But alas! his 
profession would take him away from our little rustic dell to the 
crowded town or city, while loneliness and seclusion will be my 
lot. I tremble when I think of the years that must come, and 
long for the rest beyond. God forgive me. I know I must put 
these idle thoughts away and live for some noble end, glorify 
my Heavenly Father by a life of piety, self-denial and patient 
endurance ; meanwhile, not dreaming of earth’s happiness — then, 
perhaps, I shall cease to long for it.” 

“November 3. 

“ Another letter from Claude, which left him well and in 
usually good spirits, judging by the merry tone in which he 
writes. Cousin Charlie was here last eve, came in and talked 
with us awhile, then suddenly I remembered promising Mrs. 
Brown I would come to the parlor and spend the evening with 
her, so excused myself, withdrew and left the lovers alone. 
Passed the evening very pleasantly in the dear old lady’s so- 
ciety, for she has a jolly, social manner, and we find such a 
companion an agreeable change, sometimes. Clara was waiting 
for me when T sought our room. H am very happy. Pearl, 
dear ; oh ! happier than I ever was in my life before,’ she said ; 
then kneeling at my feet she poured out the glad news of her 
betrothal. Yes, glad were they to my darling friend Clara, and 
I tried to rejoice with her; but the thought would come of the 
time when I was just as happy— of the love and adoration 
poured into my heart — the avowals of truth and fidelity — even 
the seal of a betrothal ring ; and yet he had proved cruel, heart- 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 117 

less, false! How could I believe another true more than him? 
The warning, not to grasp too surely the bud of hope, almost 
trembled forth ; but I suppressed it with an effort, and thought, 
with how much bitterness: let her find the last hope fail her as I 
have ; let her learn by bitter experience, if she must, poor Clara, 
I will not be the one to dash the cup of nectar from her lips. 
Aunt and the girls will object, I am sure, as she is from such an 
obscure family, for Charles has intimated as much to me. For 
my own part, I know very little about it, for they still maintain 
the same studied indifference since the occurrence of the bracelet 
affair, and which, I suppose, is the foundation of- all my unhap- 
piness. Oh, that it had never been! But, alas! it has darkly 
colored all my future, and may God grant at last that my inno- 
cence may be proven, although the old loves and friendships 
never return. This desertion of friends is so hard to endure.” 

“November 28. 

“Home again. Yes, Clara and I are at home again. She 
returns soon — I no more. What I wished for — a graduate’s di- 
ploma — has been granted me, and though I am thankful for the 
knowledge gained, yet how much less joy does it afford than I 
anticipated. This year was to bring me so much of pleasure; 
but it is the saddest — the most joyless of my life. I have not 
visited the little nook by the lake since my return. The last 
time I was there he was with me, and I shall never press my 
foot there alone this side the grave — never, until be comes to 
seek it with me, and that — that will never be ! Hope lies 
buried deep beside the waters. Dear old Ellen has scarcely 
altered the surroundings of our cottage. It is the same dear 
old place yet — everything has' a sadness about it. I went in to- 
day and swept a few strains across the old harp. Every note, 
in spite of me, sounded wild and mournful — no joyful chord 
poured forth. I suppose it was because the strings were touched 
by the fingers of grief, and echoed the sorrow and regret of the 
heart. Even the canary’s voice has a doleful cadence, while 
my own little boudoir looks dim and shadowy. In short, all has 
a darkened aspect, as though some withering blast had swept 
over and left its mark.” 


ii8 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


“ May 7. 

“ More than five months have passed since I wrote on these 
loved pages. I hardly thought it would be so long; but so little 
has occurred of ’note, and life has been so full of dull monotony, 
loneliness and sad regrets, that I have shrank from writing con- 
tinually the same sad strain; but to-day a little light and joy 
have come to my heart — for Claude is coming home — the first 
visit since his return from college. It seems so long since last we 
met, dear, good brother! I wonder if he has changed, and yet 
why need I? for I know he must be the same as ever, just as good 
and kind and tender. Dear old Anthony and Ellen have been 
in ecstacies since the letter came. The former has gone to the 
city, and Claude is to return with him. Hark! I believe that 
is old Dobbin’s step now; yes, there they are coming — surely 
coming. I cannot be mistaken.” 

Pearl tossed her journal carelessly upon the table and bounded 
merrily down the stairs with the elasticity of childhood, which 
for many months had been unknown to her, and was soon 
clasped in her brother’s arms. 

“Well, Masther Claude, an’ how are ye?” said old Ellen, com- 
ing forward with her hand extended ; “ sure, an’ we’re glad to see 
ye. It seems like good old times, afore ye or Missy Pearl left 
us. Our hearts were glad when she came back to the nest, but 
it was not complate without ye, an’ the winter has been long an’ 
lonely to our deary. She isn’t the same creature, sure, an’ ye’ll 
have to cheer her up a little afore ye return.” 

“Yes, yes, Ellen,” said Claude, after shaking her proftered 
hand, warmly, “ I’m going to take her back to the city in a few 
days. Dr. Norton’s family won that promise from me and would 
hear no objection.” 

“Indade, then the old home will be lonely again; but take 
her, take the pooj^ child. It will revive her droopin’ spirits, an’ 
bring the old bloom back to her cheeks.” 

At these words Claude drew back and took a look at his 
sister. A strange, frightened expression passed over his fea- 
tures as he saw how the once beautiful and happv face had 
altered. Ah! he knew but too well the cause — the accusation 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


119 

of the theft, as well as the cruel desertion of him she loved 
better than life itself. He turned away and sought the window, 
while his brow clouded and his lips comprested with passion as 
he thought of the cruelty of those once professing to be her 
friends — now her deadliest enemies. Somehow Lottie Stan- 
wick would come up before him whenever he thought of the 
bracelet. He had no doubt of her guilt, though he had never 
lisped it, and the fearful thought of revenge tempted him; but 
it had only a momentary advantage, for his better nature tri- 
umphed, and flinging it away like a poisoned dart, he again put 
on a smiling face, striving to enliven his sister, who, he found, 
had alarmingly changed, both in manner and in looks. After 
tea they wandered arm in arm out in the forest, gathering the 
beautiful May flowers and waxen tufts of the trailing arbutus, 
forming them into bouquets, talking, and walking slowly, while 
Claude was drawing her unconsciously towards the little nook 
b}^ the lake. Suddenly looking up, she turned white as ashes, 
a tremor ran through her frame, while with a pitiful expression 
she said: 

“No, no, please, brother Claude, I don’t wish to go there;” 
then sinking like a tired child on the fallen trunk of a tree, cov- 
ered her face with her hands and burst into tears. 

“ Pearl, darling, it grieves me to see you thus, and yet I can 
not censure you. I do not wonder that your life is almost a 
burden to you. I do not like to think of those who caused all 
this, for it makes me feel so wicked and revengeful.” 

“I did not mean to be so quickly overcome; but it was so 
sudden. Forgive me. I am not making your home-visit pleas- 
ant at all. Now tell me, Claude,” she continued, anxious to 
change the subject, “what*are your prospects for the future? 
Does it seem possible that you have met with such unparalleled 
success ?” 

“No, sister; for it seems scarcely more than yesterday since 
we were planning and contriving some way for me to become a 
physician. God has dealt kindly with us, and we must not forget 
to pour out our hearts in gratitude to Him ; besides, I have had 
an ofter that I little expected. Dr. Norton came in last evening 


120 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


and proposed that I should be his successor, as he wished to re- 
tire from business entirely, and for the present he wished me to 
occupy the same olJk'.e and remain with his family as formerly. 
He said that his influence in my behalf should be exerted at 
every opportunity, and he had no doubt of my success, as he 
should not fail to assist me in every possible manner. He talked 
to me as a father to a son, giving me much valuable advice. 
He has proved himself an inestimable friend, and I do thank 
God for directing me to his door.” 

“Yes, and I am truly thankful for this kind ofler, and shall 
feel quite at rest with regard to your future,” said Pearl. 

That night they knelt in the little library again as in days 
gone by, and oflered up heartfelt prayers to God. 

Two weeks passed of quiet enjoyment to the brother and 
sister at - Moss Cottage, living over the old days as nearly as 
possible, visiting their favorite haunts and sailing on the lake, 
which Claude did not consider in vain, for Pearl appeared hap- 
pier, and the mild spring air had brought back some of the lost 
color to her cheeks and the buoyancy to her steps. Sometimes 
the thought that she was not his sister would intrude itself upon 
Claude, but still hearing nothing from Mr. Nellisse, he felt less 
fear; and although for the sake of Grace he wished for his re- 
turn, yet otherwise dreaded it on account of the change it might 
cause in the life of Pearl, thereby affecting his own. Since his 
success, and the unexpected offer made by Dr. Norton, a great 
weight had been lifted from his mind with regard to the future, 
although he had experience enough about the life of a physician 
to know that there was much care and anxiety connected with 
it; but he felt that with the help of God, on whose arm he re- 
lied, he was strong for the conflict. So with a brave heart he 
was determined to press on through every difficulty. Then, 
perhaps, the day might come when he could venture to sue for 
the hand of young and lovely Grace Nellisse. The hope was 
stronger in his heart than it had ever been before, and what a 
pleasure to still be allowed to remain under the same roof and 
see her daily, while how often, as he sat alone, would he wonder 
what her thoughts would be when she learned his intention. 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward. 


I2T 


He little knew how her heart beat with gladness on that May 
evening when, as dark clouds were surrounding her, and her 
spirit seemed burdened by a weight of sadness. Dr. Norton 
came in, and with a stroke of his great palm across the shining 
waves of hair, told her that Claude was to be his successor. 
So when the brother and sister arrived, she met them with 
doubly cheerful spirits, and Pearl, with an affection almost sis- 
terly. She noted the alteration in Pearl’s face and manner, but 
scarcely dreamed the cause, though she strove in every possible 
way to bring back her old gayety. Although she partially suc- 
ceeded there seemed to have fallen a storm so blighting that its 
effects could not be easily effaced. Parties were made, rides 
taken in the country, excursions to the neighboring mountain, 
besides many other amusements; but all failed to enliven her 
spirits. She struggled to escape from the lethargy herself, but 
in vain. Here, where they had once been together — this that 
had once been his home — the picture gallery — the conservatory 
— the music room — all brought still fresher to her mind those 
past days of joy, and how quickly they have ffed, never, never 
to return again. Something which brought a ray of hope to 
her heart was this: The picture of Moss Cottage hung no 
longer in the gallery, while Paul’s room, which they passed 
through once, looked just as it did on that night long ago when 
they sat together there ; but her picture, thank God — that was 
gone ; perhaps he had cared a little for it, and taken it at least 
from the gaze of curious observers. She dared not lisp his 
name, and when Grace began to talk of him changed the subject 
as quickly as opportunity permitted. 

“ Strange that he has never written to any one, isn’t it, and 
never told us even what part he was bound for? He left 
all at once, and when I asked him to tell me where he was 
going, such an expression of bitter despair crossed his features 
that it startled me, and he answered in such a hopeless tone: 
‘ Oh, it don’t matter, Grace, any where, any where, away from 
every thing and every one I have ever known. I can hardly 
tell myself;’ then there was such a strange, decided pause in his 
voice, I dared ask no more. He came through L , did he not?” 

10 


122 


Pearl Trevelyan; or. 


Pearl’s heart gave a great bound at the unexpected question, 
while she answered, “I believe so,” and just then casting her 
eyes upon a gorgeous colored anti-macassar, spoke of its beauty, 
thereby changing the subject. 

Grace’s words continually haunted Pearl during the remain- 
der of her stay, and after returning home proved a source of 
hope, for it showed that something had caused his unusual sad- 
ness, and perhaps it might be connected in some measure with 
herself Perhaps he had not given her up without at least a 
pang of regret, although he had appeared so perfectly pitiless. 

Thus days passed into weeks — weeks into months — until two 
years more were numbered with those gone before, nothing oc- 
curring to change the life of our little heroine — all one dull and 
changeless routine of duty — until she looked forward to nothing 
farther in life. Claude sometimes paid them a visit, though sel- 
dom, owing to his extensive and successful practice. Once 
Grace had been out and spent a few weeks, but Dr. Norton’s 
city home was shunned like *a prison house, for the chains of 
memor}^ while there bound her in such a vice-like grasp that 
they had seemed to hold her ever under the same sad spell. 

Clara had returned home now to remain, and Charles had 
come down with her to pay them a visit — the first since her re- 
turn from school. He had gone over to Clara’s home, and Pearl 
sits alone looking out upon the pale glory of the stars and 
of the new moon, which hangs low in the sky. Rising hastily 
she lights a lamp, and taking her journal sits down to write. 
Her face is as pale and cold and rigid as a statue. There is a 
look of despair and settled determination upon it. Her eyes 
have a strange glitter, while her lips are colorless and com- 
pressed. She writes rapidly, excitedly. Let us read: 

“July 12. 

“Yes, once more — only once more — will I write on these dear 
old pages. Little did I dream what a record of sorrow it would 
be. It must be the crisis, for I see nothing that could farther 
add to my misery, except death, and that would be welcome. 
This morning, as I sat shaded by the curtains of the bay win- 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward. 


123 


dow in the library, the door stood ajar and I heard Ellen speak 
my name. At first I did not heed, but as she went on her words 
attracted my attention, and seemed to freeze every drop of blood 
in my veins and chain me to the spot: ‘You do not understand 
me, Anthony. Pearl, our beautiful Pearl, is a foundling, poor 
child. She is not a Trevelyan, and Claude is nohher brother.’ 
‘Sure an’ it can’t be possible, Ellen. How did ye hear? There 
must be some mistake.’ ‘I met that strange, old woman, ye 
have heard me tell of, and she said she knew it positively, and 
could prove it. I tried to get the particulars out of her, but 
failed intirely. She said I musn’t let Missy Pearl know of it for 
the world.’ I heard no more of those bitter, burning words. I 
must have sank into a dead faint, for the first I knew Ellen was 
preparing the table for dinner. I arose and tottered to my room. 
When I went to dinner they remarked my haggard appearance, 
little knowing that what they so wished to keep from me had 
fallen like a death-knell upon my hitherto almost hopeless ex- 
istence. And now I am going away — I know not whither — 
somewhere out into the pitiless, stormy world. What matters 
it ? This is not my rightful home — no friends in the world I can 
rightfully claim. What, indeed, does it matter where / go? 
No one will miss me — no one care for Pearl the foundling, whose 
birth and parentage are unknown. Oh God! and I have lived 
all my life on charity — been dependant on those on whom I had 
no claim — gained an education through such means, and now 
am still defendant. No, no; it can not be so. To all, all — even 
to thee, at last, dear old cottage — home no longer — farewell! 
Friends I have loved — friends I can claim, alas! no longer — and 
every thing my heart holds dear, farewell! Homeless, friend- 
less, cheerless ; a lonely orphan, cast upon the cold and heartless 
world, with none but God. No one shall know of my intentions; 
but to-morrow, one last, lingering look, then at night I go. I 
go I know not — care not — where, only that it were possible to 
sink forever into eternal oblivion. Oh! it is almost beyond 
human endurance to bear. My brain seems turning wild, and I 
shall soon be beyond all and everything I have ever known and 
loved. To some sequestered spot, where there is rest, rest. 


124 


Pearl Trevelyan ; or^ 


oh, God, lead me, that has not the remotest resemblance to what 
I have ever seen in the past. Farewell! again farewell!” 

The next day, taking her sun-hat, she strolled out along the 
favorite walks and among the loved haunts of her childhood; 
then stepping into the Sea-shell, drifted 'slowly across the deep 
blue waters, until the boat grated upon the pebbly shore, when 
she looked up to find herself just below the little nook she had 
not visited for years. At first she sat and gazed upon it like 
one spell-bound — still, pale, and silent, as though she would im- 
print upon her very soul each tiny leaflet and scented flower- 
petal; then, as though the long congealed fountain had broken 
up its waters, the incubus of grief unbound its iron fetters and 
she burst into tears. Sobbing, moaning, thinking over again the 
long-ago and its pleasures, then the Jong interval of sorrow, and 
finally her present position, one hour passed into eternity. Not 
once had she risen from her seat in the Sea-shell, and casting 
once more a last, lingering look, a bitter sob escaping her as 
though a human heart were breaking, she turned the boat and 
rowed quickly back again; then with another burst of bitterest 
tears she bade the little fairy barque farewell, and walked on to 
the cottage — home, alas! no more. 

Charles was there, and expressing his joy at her return, re- 
marked that even the cottage was lonely without its Pearl. A 
sigh escaped her, and crossing over she sat down by the win- 
dow, some impulse causing her to lean out and look far down 
the broad, dusty road. A carriage was nearing, and the horse 
seemed coming at its swiftest speed. Just then a white, filmy 
handkerchief floated from the carriage, before it the spirited 
animal reared, plunged, then dashed wildly forward, and with 
foaming mouth rushed past the cottage, overturning the carriage 
a little beyond, and hurling its inmates mercilessly to the ground. 
A scream from Pearl brought Charles to the window just in 
time to see the terrible catastrophe. Hurrying out, to their 
great astonishment Lottie Stan wick lay still and bleeding before 
them. They raised her carefully, carried and placed her upon 
the snowy couch in a small room adjoining the library. Charles 
immediately started for the doctor, while old Anthony attended 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


125 


to the wants of the driver, who proved to be partially stunned, 
a slight gash on his head being the only injury. Among the 
dark folds of Lottie’s hair Pearl discovered quite a deep wound, 
and her feelings can hardly be described as she gazed upon the 
pale, blood-stained face of her who, in childhood, had been her 
dearest friend. She was deeply moved, and resolved that she 
would remain during her illness, while every thing possible 
should be done to alleviate her sufferings and save her from 
death. The doctor soon arrived and was not long in ascertain- 
ing that a broken leg and arm was the result of the accident, 
besides other injuries which careful nursing would alone save 
from serious consequences; so after performing the operations 
necessary, and preparing medicine, he gave proper directions 
and departed. 

Days passed away, and yet Lottie Stanwick had scarcely been 
possessed of reason enough to know where she was and who 
were her attendants — delirious at times with fever, besides being 
under the influence of narcotics to soothe her pain. 

Mr. and Mrs. Stanwick being absent in Europe at the time, 
traveling. Pearl, with untiring diligence, watched over her suf- 
fering enemy till reason returned to its throne and hope began 
to dawn of returning health. Her recovery was slow, but sure; 
and when at last one morning she opened her eyes to her true 
and humiliating position, a shadow of pain and remorse crossed 
her emaciated features, while she cast upon Pearl a look which 
seemed to say, “ I have no right to your kindness.” The latter 
soothed her, gently spoke of her parents’ absence, their expected 
return — as a letter had been sent immediately after the accident 
— adding that much depended on her quietness. She submitted 
at once like one unable to resist, often closing her eyes as though 
wishing to escape the glance of her patient nurse; then as she 
slowly convalesced, watched Pearl’s movements with interest as 
she performed the duties of the sick room; sometimes. Pearl 
almost fancied, with aflection. 

One morning Charles sat silently reading, while our little 
friend was placing a bouquet of sweet flowers where the invalid 
could gaze upon them, when she heard a low sound. Glancing 


126 Pearl Trev^elyan; or^ 

up in alarm she found Lottie bathed in tears and sobbing 
violently. 

“What is it, Lottie?” she said, approaching. “It will never 
do to agitate yourself in this manner.” 

“ Oh, Pearl dear, my early friend, do not restrain me, or I 
shall go mad. I must speak, for I can endure your kindness no 
longer. I know it will be a relief, and I believe will hasten 
rather than retard my recovery. I have a confession to make, 
though I fear it is too late to recall your lost happiness; for it 
was I — proud, heartless and selfish that I was — who struck 
the death-blow to all your hopes. It was I who stained your 
beautiful painting with the ink; it was I who took from Gene- 
vieve’s dressing table her bracelet, and with a key of m}^ own 
unlocked your trunk and placed it within, to injure your hitherto 
unsullied reputation in the eyes of the Trevelyan family, as well 
as those of Paul Marshall. He was rich. Pearl. I strove to win 
him for his gold, and finding that while you, in all your beauty 
and perfection of character, stood in my way, it was impossible, 
I determined to stoop to the most degrading strategems, if neces- 
sary^, to attain my ends. I knew you would write to him and 
he would believe you, so watching my^ opportunity I bribed the 
post-boy, intercepted y^our letter and wrote another, cruel and 
heartless — you recollect our handwriting was nearly alike in 
school-days — stating that you did not love him ; was glad you had 
found out your mistake ere you were bound by^ the ties of mar- 
riage ; that you were surely not fitted for each other ; that you 
presumed he had concluded ere this, as you had, that it was 
nothing but child’s play after all; that there was no need of a 
reply, as nothing would change y-our purpose. . After my^ return 
home I visited at Dr. Norton’s as soon as possible, and while 
there told him of the theft. He said that nothing but your own 
confession of guilt would make him believe it. Finding this fail, 
I told a cruel lie, that I had overheard you say to Lulu one day* 
that all that induced you to form the engagement at all was be- 
cause of his riches — that you had concluded there were others 
just as wealthy you could like better, and were going to write 
and break it oft'. As this fully agreed with the letter he had re- 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


127 


ceived he believed my story, and turning pale as death, snatched 
his hat and rushed wildly out. I used my utmost endeavors to 
win him, but to m}^ surprise and vexation all proved in vain, and 
he left for Europe a changed man, even before my departure for 
home. I do not blame you if you hate me. I wish you would. 
I could endure it better. Your kindness is killing me. All this 
long time I have shunned you, so we have scarcely met face to 
face, though dwelling so near together. Do you wonder? I 
will not ask you to forgive me. I do not merit your pardon — 
only treat me with that scprn which I deserve.” 

Charles had drawn near and heard all. His brow darkened 
with passion as she went on, while he seemed hardly able to 
control himself; and, as though fearful of being overcome, went 
quickly out, leaving the two girls alone. Pearl had listened 
silently, pale and anxious, and now with a deep groan she sank 
upon the carpet overpowered by the intensity of her emotions. 
She hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry— certainly she 
knew now that Paul Marshall had been true to her, which 
brought that unspeakable joy she had not known for years; but 
think of his opinion of herself since the receipt of that wicked 
letter. What must have been his feelings when he thought that 
she, in whom he had placed such perfect confidence, had turned 
so heartlessly against him?— when he saw every fond hope de- 
cay — every bright dream he had cherished of the future broken, 
and the golden web of love torn mercilessly by the fingers of 
her he had chosen for his bride? His fate was even worse than 
her own, if possible, for 

“ Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary, 

For a hope deferred ; and sadder still to see it fade and fall ; 

Yet to grasp the thing we long for and with sorrow sick and dreary. 

Then to And how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.” 

The sick girl was still sobbing pitifully, and Pearl, forgetful 
as she ever was of her own sufferings when listening to those 
of another — forgetful of the injuries done her, whose bitter ef- 
fects she felt to-day still worse, if possible, when she saw how 
easily it might all have been avoided but for the selfish interest 
of one single individual, arose, and twining her arms around 
Lottie’s neck, said: 


128 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


“ Do not weep, dear Lottie, you did not know — you did not 
realize what you were doing. Tears will not take it back. I 
forgive you freely.” 

“Oh, I do not deserVe it,” she sobbed out. “You are too 
kind — too kind. I can never forgive myself, never. Oh! if I 
only knew where Paul Marshall is to-day, this wrong should be 
expiated if I had to cross the water myself to do it. Oh! oh! 
I pray God the lost sunshine of your life may be again restored.” 

If it were possible, thought Pearl, would he return to marry 
a foundling, one whose birth and parentage are unknown; a 
penniless, friendless orphan? No, no; it is too late now. It 
would be too much to ask or to hope for; and when Lottie’s 
mother returned to take her place by the sick bed, which noth- 
ing else could induce her to leave, she would seek other scenes, 
where God alone knew what would be her fate. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ O my soul’s joy! 

If after every Tempest come such calms, 

May the winds blow till they have wakened death I 

If it were now to die, 

’Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear. 

My soul hath her content so absolute. 

That not another Comfort like to this 

Succeeds in unknown fate.” —Shakespeare. 

A delightful shower had refreshed the earth, and now the 
clouds were scattered, leaving blue and gold, interspersed with 
scarlet, spread out like a beautiful painting and casting a gor- 
geous halo over all. Claude had returned from a walk in the 
country just in time to escape the great pattering drops, and 
now as it cleared away, leaving so much of rare beauty, he put 
on his hat and sauntered forth to admire the unusual loveliness 
and inhale the invigorating atmosphere. He very seldom en- 
joyed such privileges, as business calls were so frequent. To- 


J Irtue Reaps its Own Reward. 


129 


day he hardly knew which way to direct his footsteps ; but just 
then the shrill whistle of the afternoon express rent the air, and 
something unseen seemed to draw him- toward the depot. He 
had been there but seldom, and it did afford a slight recreation 
to watch the many forms and faces differing so materially, and 
perhaps there might be one among the number he would re- 
cognize. 

As the passengers descended, two of the number particularly 
arrested Claude’s attention — ^the one, a respectably-dressed, 
middle-aged gentleman, with an extremely sad countenance, the 
other, a woman, dressed in deep mourning, with a strange, hur- 
ried manner, and her eyes, which glittered like steel through the 
thick folds of her veil, were fastened with a wild, frightened 
expression on this same gentleman. Her desire seemed to be 
to escape observation, and hastily entering a cab, whose doors 
closed instantly upon her, she was seen no more. 

Her manner impressed Claude strangely, but there seemed 
something familiar about the gentleman. He seemed undecided 
where to go, looking around in a bewildered manner, but seeing 
the eyes of the young physician fastened upon him, approached 
and inquired: 

“Will you be so kind as to inform me whether Dr. Norton 
still resides in this place?” 

“I am most happ}^ to inform you that he does, and, as his 
house happens to be my home at present, I will gladly escort 
you thither,” replied Claude.. 

“ Thanks,” said the gentleman, his face brightening a little as 
he spoke, “I should like to meet my good friend once more;” 
and turning, walked silently and with an air of dejection by the 
side of Claude, who, in the meantime, was greatly puzzled to 
think where he had before seen some one similar, and was the 
first to break the silence: 

“ You have traveled far, I presume, and are extremely weary?” 

“I have, indeed; but am agreeably surprised to find Dr. 
Norton still a resident of the cit}^ Perhaps you have been an 
inmate ol the family long enough to have known my daughter 
Grace, before her decease?” 

17 


130 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

Claude looked up astonished, hardly knowing what to make 
of his strange words. 

“Your daughter Grace! Miss Nellisse, do you mean?” 

“I do most assuredly^” said the gentleman, his face lighting 
up with animation at the mere mention of her name. 

“ Did I understand you to say before her decease^ sir ?” queried 
Claude, hardly believing he had heard aright. 

“Yes; I did say before her decease,” answered the gentleman 
sadly. 

This, then, was her long-lost father, and he replied quickly: 
“You are mistaken. She is not dead, but alive now and still at 
Dr. Norton’s.” 

Such a strange, sudden transformation our young friend had 
never seen upon the countenance of any human being. At first 
he stopped short, looked upon Claude in blank amazement; 
the rigid lines which sorrow and despair had drawn upon his 
brow seemed to relax, then turning pale as death he grasped 
the paling for support: “Not dead — not dead? You say my 
child not deadf Do I hear aright? Is my child still alive? 
Are you sure it is my own Grace?” and the strong man, cover- 
ing his face with his hands, wept for very joy, while his frame 
shook with emotion. 

“Yes, yes, sir,” replied Claude, “there is no mistake.” 

“Oh, this is too great happiness — more than I could ask. 
Thank God — thank God! But am I not dreaming?” 

“No, sir; no. It is all a blessed reality. While she will be 
no less surprised and overjoyed to find that her long-lost father 
is still alive.” 

“There is some great mystery about this. A low grave was 
all I expected to see of my darling child; and now, oh, joy un- 
speakable! she is still alive.” 

They had reached the gateway, when suddenty from among 
the flowers, like a beautiful houri, her golden hair straying over 
her azure robe like rays of sunlight over a summer sky, Grace 
bounded out into the path, confronting Claude and laughing 
gleefuUy; but at the sight of a stranger a blush of mortification 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 131 

mantled her cheek, and stepping back among the flowery bil- 
lows of white and scarlet, said: 

“Excuse me, Claude, but I heard your footstep, and suppos- 
ing you were alone, thought to startle you;” but the tall stran- 
ger had paused and was gazing at her now with a peculiar 
scrutiny. She glanced again. What was there in that face 
that startled her? Something so strangely familiar. Why did 
memory at that moment carry her back to that morning when 
she waved a last adieu to her much-loved father? But with 
this transient thought came the blessed truth that the same form, 
though with a face strangely altered and grief-stricken, stood 
before her now: “Thank God! It is my dear, dear father,” 
she cried, and, stepping forward she was clasped firmly within his 
arms, and overcome by excess of joy, her lovely head drooped, 
her waxen eye-lids closed — she had fainted. He carried her in, 
preceded by Claude, and laid his treasure upon the couch in the 
library. Then while the young doctor applied restoratives, sat 
silently gazing upon her with the love and admiration of a fond 
parent, while tears of joy chased each other over his face. 

She soon returned to consciousness, and the Doctor and his 
wife coming in a few moments after, found the trio contentedly 
engaged in conversation, Mr. Nellisse just on the point of nar- 
rating the reason of his silence. 

Claude had slyly sent word in to Dr. Norton by a servant just 
then passing through the hall, that a stranger was present in the 
library wishing to see himself and wife. They came immedi- 
ately, though hardly expecting to see so familiar a face, though 
he was straightway recognized by both: 

“ Well, I declare, if this isn’t an unexpected and happy sur- 
prise,” said the Doctor, shaking his hand. 

“This is really more than we dared hope for,” responded his 
wife, the glad tears shining in her eyes. 

“ And I, in return, am no less happily surprised than your- 
selves, for I supposed my darling child laid beside the others in 
the church-yard, while your own dear faces I supposed in some 
foreign land.” 

“ And now, before we go any farther,” said the Doctor, “ let 


132 Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 

UwS sit down and learn why you have maintained this mysterious 
silence.” 

‘‘For a time,” began Mr. Nellisse, “letters from here came 
regularly. Then quite an interim elapsed in which I received 
none. The next was in mourning, and, breaking the seal with 
extreme dread, I found a letter I supposed written by yourself. 
Doctor, stating that a malignant disease had very suddenly 
carried my daughter into eternity ; that it was impossible for me 
to reach there, even had ^mu apprehended danger from the first ; 
and that ever}^ possible attention had been paid both before and 
after her decease. The letter expressed much real sorrow, 
and concluded by saying that an answer would be useless, as 
you had disposed of your town residence, and, with your family, 
intended to travel for a time, at least, and that you would write 
again informing me of your whereabouts. A postscript added 
that the remainder of her property would be refunded to me. 
I waited long and anxiously for tidings, but in vain. My every 
hope was gone. I felt that I had nothing indeed to live for. 
Sometimes I almost murmured that all I loved should have been 
taken from me. I shrank from visiting these scenes again, until 
a few weeks ago, when a strange longing took possession of 
me to once more behold the graves of my loved ones. So 
coming hither something prompted me to inquire for you, 
though at the time I thought it almost useless; but from the 
first I find I have been directed by the hand of a Divine Provi- 
dence to this home-land, where I find again the glorious sun- 
shine of a daughter’s love to illumine the last days of my 
existence.” 

“A strange, strange mystery,” uttered Dr. Norton. “I know 
nothing about such a letter. I have resided here during your 
absence, and answered every epistle received from you, until at 
last they ceased altogether. For a long time we entertained 
hope of tidings, but receiving none naturally supposed you 
dead. Little Grace, here, has mourned you as such, passing 
many a sad and lonely hour.” 

“ Y es, dear father. What I had ceased to hope for, the vacant 
place in my heart, the desolate spot in my life, is again filled by 


Virtue Reaj)s its Own Reward. 


133 


your loving presence. But who of us possesses an enemy that 
would commit so foul a deed, for it certainly has been an injury 
to us all.” 

“I can not conjecture,” said Mr. Nellisse and the Doctor in 
concert. “ But let our happiness not be marred by this mystery, 
at least during the present,” continued the former. I feel that 
we should only be too thankful that even at this late hour we 
have met.” 

All responded in the affirmative, while each face was lit up 
with a new happiness, excepting Claude’s, which had a sad and 
dejected look. He hardly knew, at this moment, whether to 
be glad or sorry. There seemed to be a commingling of 
both. The former he certainly was on account of the happi- 
ness of Grace, yet he could not help thinking of his own future 
and its cheerless aspect, when all he loved, on which he had a 
claim, would be torn from him; for the crisis had come at last, 
when Pearl’s identity must be proven if possible. He shrank 
from the task before him, yet resolved to march boldly, bravely 
forth to the call of duty. Just at this point of his thoughts tea 
was announced, after which an hour or two passed in pleasant 
converse, when Mr. Nellisse, being greatly fatigued, retired, 
soon followed by the others. 

The next morning before dawn found the young Doctor on his 
way to Moss Cottage. Dr. Norton had very kindly consented 
to attend to Claude’s various patients during the day, which he 
was to spend at home, returning in the evening with the little 
rose-wood box containing the golden chain and cross, besides 
the fleecy garments marked with the name “Pearl.” As he 
entered Moss Glen, a slight mist, rising from the lake, tinged 
with the glory of the eastern sun, hung like a veil of burnished 
gold over its glassy surface, seeming to vie with the shining 
crown cast over the tops of the forest trees, while through the 
foliage of the giant maples gleamed the pure white cottage he 
was yet proud to call b}^ that- sweet name — home*. “When its 
gentle mistress was gone, what would it be then?” he sighed. 

But who was that before him now? for a slight form, in a 
neat pink morning dress, with a pale, care-worn face, stood mid- 


134 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


way down the avenue, tearing some myrtle sprays from their 
bed of green and twining them carelessly among the flowers of 
a lovely bouquet which she held in one thin, white hand. Could 
it be Pearl? No, no. The eyes looked too wild and sunken; 
the features too pale and emaciated; yet it must be, for as her 
eyes fell upon him the flowers fell listlessly down on the waxen- 
leaved mound, while with a cry of joy she came bounding to 
meet him. Then, as though restrained by some sudden impulse, 
her speed slackened, the glad light faded from the violet eyes, 
leaving a sad, disappointed expression, while she held out her 
hand with an air of coldness and constraint never shown 
towards him before. 

“But what does such distant courtesy mean towards your 
loving brother?” he said, almost faltering at the last word. 

“ Oh, do not ask me,” she responded, bursting into tears. “ I 
am hardly myself at all any more; but your presence, perhaps, 
will cheer and strengthen me.” 

“You look so careworn, Pearl, dear, as though you had lately 
passed through much fatigue.” 

“ As I have, dear Claude. Perhaps you will censure me, but 
it is too late to withhold it longer;” and in a few words the 
whole story was related of Lottie Stanwick’s accident, illness 
and confession. 

“I am so thankful your innocence is proven, which God has 
brought around in His own good time. This ought to bring 
back the roses to your cheeks. Besides, Paul is the same true 
and noble fellow I ever thought him to be. That I only knew 
his whereabouts! But cheer up. That will come all right, too, 
some day. Why did you not write of this charge you had on 
you?” 

“ I knew you would consider it too much for my strength.” 

“You thought rightly; and though I am exceedingly sorry 
you should so far overtax yourself, yet I can not but commend 
your noble self-denial, as well as the forgiving spirit vou have 
manifested towards your deadliest enemy. Y ou must have rest, 
however, which, we hope, with a little medicinal aid, will give 
you health and strength.” 


Virtue Rea-ps its Ozvn Reward. 


135 


Pearl sighed as she thought how comparatively useless it 
would prove while the canker of sorrow was still corroding 
her very life. 

“What a beautiful horse,” she said, affectionately caressing 
the noble animal, a great pet and favorite of the Doctor’s; “but 
we are forgetting ourselves, and Lottie will think herself neg- 
lected. Anthony is coming, and he will relieve you of all care. 
Come with me, then.” 

“Well, sure, an’ it’s yerself I see before me, so early in the 
mornin’. Right glad, my boy, right glad,” said the old gar- 
dener, as he advanced. “Ye’re well, I hope?” 

“Yes, usually so, good old friend,” returned Claude; “and I 
hope to find 3^our kind-hearted wife looking as rugged as your- 
self” 

“Yes, yes, indade, she’s as hearty as ye ever saw her. Let 
me put your horse in the stable,” he said, leading it in that di- 
rection, while Claude and Pearl entered the house, where they 
were met by Ellen, who greeted “ Masther Claude ” with that 
frank and generous manner which characterized her ; then open- 
ing the door they passed silently into the sick room where Lottie, 
reclining among the snowy pillows, had changed so much with 
suffering as hardly to be recognized by Claude. As her eyes 
fell upon him a flush of scarlet suddenly suffused the lily of her 
cheeks, then receding, left them paler than before. Holding out 
her hand to Claude, she murmured something scarcely audible, 
then turning on her pillow burst into tears. The memory of child- 
hood’s days; her cruel neglect of these, her truest friends; the 
great injuries done Pearl; her kindness, and the pitying, forgiv- 
ing expression of Claude as he entered her sick room — he from 
whom she merited only scorn — in her weak state so overcome 
her that she found herself unable to control her emotion. 

Claude felt for her what he had once thought impossible — a 
strange pity; and while he took the wasted hand in his own, 
whispered, “We are still your friends, Lottie. ‘Let the dead 
past bury its dead.’ ” 

His words seemed to have a magical effect, for a smile of 


136 


Pearl Trevelya^i; or^ 


gratitude lit up every feature, while she said : “ I could hardly 

expect it.” Then admiring the flowers and inhaling their fra- 
grance, expressed thanks for the kind consideration of Pearl. 

The greater part of the day was spent within the sick room, 
though a short walk was indulged in after dinner, and a little 
confidential talk in the library, yet neither mentioned that which 
was most predominant in their thoughts — the bitter knowledge 
that they could no longer rightfully claim the relationship of 
brother and sister. A perceptible sadness had stolen over both, 
and though neither could account for it in the other, strange to 
say it originated from the same cause. So that night they 
parted; Pearl with a great miser}^ at her heart, bidding him 
good-bye, with little hope of ever seeing him again, while he 
expected to meet her under entirely different circumstances, 
which might render her more happy and content though un- 
happy himself 

A little packet containing the rose-wood box went with him 
on his return, and when he found sufficient leisure, which did 
not occur for two or three days subsequent, he called Mr. Nellisse 
aside and tremblingly narrated what his father had told him. 
Then opening the box he raised the gleaming chain and cross, 
and unfolding the filmy robe of India muslin held it up to the 
gentleman’s astonished gaze, when Mr. Nellisse exclaimed: 

“The same, the same — the mate to Grace’s cross, and the 
identical robe. I remember the respective days I purchased 
them, as though they were but yesterday. And Pearl was the 
name we gave her. Everything, the number of years and all, 
exactly correspond; and yet can it be possible that I am to re- 
ceive this double blessing of finding my lost and loved child? 
Oh, God, what have I done to merit this great happiness! I 
thank Thee!” and great tears of gratitude rolled down his fur- 
rowed cheeks. “ And I owe so much to you, my kind young 
friend,” he continued, taking Claude’s hand and pressing it 
warmly. “ And remember, any favor you may ask of me, if in 
my power, it shall be granted.” 

“ Thanks, kind sir,” said Claude, tearfully. “ I will not say it 
has not cost me a struggle and a sacrifice, but the call of duty I 


Virtue Rea^s its Own Reward, 137 

must obey, and I feel that I am amply rewarded by the happi- 
ness it has already occasioned you. Grace does not — ” 

But they were interrupted by the opening of the door. “A 
message, Doctor,” said the servant, handing him a small paper, 
which, after opening and glancing hastily over, he read aloud: 

“ Dr. Claude Trevelyan : 

“ Come quickly with the messenger. Mother is dying and wishes to see 
you and Mr. James Nellisse. 

“Night, op the Haunted House.” « 

“ Strange,” the}^ exclaimed in concert. “What can it mean? 
But there is certainly no time to be lost,” said Claude, “ if we are 
going.” 

“We will go,'^’ said Mr. Nellisse, answering Claude’s ques- 
tioning look. “ Surely no harm can result from it.” 

During the bustle of preparation, Claude did not think at 
once of Pearl’s adventure at the haunted house, but had no 
sooner got on his way than word after word of her story slowly 
came to his mind. Perhaps this strange summons might be 
connected in some manner with Pearl, and furnish some clue to 
the mystery; and after telling the whole to his companion, Mr. 
Nellisse, the latter ejaculated: 

“Still more and more mysteries! I cannot conjecture who 
this woman is. And she seems to know me as well. But let 
us hurry on and relieve oiir minds of this perplexity, if possible.” 

They were nearing the haunted house now, and driving up 
the tangled, weedy path, alighted, and following a young girl 
who met them at the door through numberless lofty rooms, 
dank and mouldy, empty and ghost-like, to the old west wing^ 
entered a room dark and weird, like the others, with but few 
articles of furniture, while the dim light revealed a low couch 
oh which lay the form of a woman, by whose side sat a girl 
weeping passionately. The former beckoned to them with her 
hand, saying as she did so: 

“Be quick! I have something I would sa}^ for I have not long 
to live.” 

As they drew nearer a gleam of recognition passed over the 
face of Mr. Nellisse, confirmed by the woman’s next words: 

18 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


138 

“You doubtless recognize the face of your former house- 
keeper, Hortense Burns, now Hortense Ravenna?” 

“I do,” replied Mr. Nellisse. 

“You lost a child after my dismissal.^” 

“We did.” 

“ Y ou know /or many years I had been the only mistress of 
your stately home. I loved it, while its master, yourself, sir, 
was dearer than life itself to me. You may wonder, for you did 
naught to win my love ; but to me it grew to be a second na- 
ture. I did not expect to become your wife. I dared hope for 
no such thing ; but if I could only live on and on, superintending 
your home, I would be fully content, for then I was much in 
your presence; and when you unexpectedly brought home a 
wife, my heart was stirred to its very depths with hatred towards 
her, while in every way I sought to torment the poor creature, 
until she could endure it no longer. One night as I was cross- 
ing the hall I heard her speak my name. I stole on tip-toe to 
listen, while she said that she had hitherto made no complaint, 
hoping there might be a change, but such a life was unendur- 
able, and that either she or I must leave. I listened eagerly, 
hoping you might side with me ; but no, you expressed great 
sympathy for her, and the next morning gave me my final dis- 
charge! For a very long time I remained where every move- 
ment of yourself and family was made known to me ; and after 
hearing of the birth of your second child, concluded that my 
revenge should be effected by stealing your idolized babe. Ac- 
cordingly, watching my opportunity, and seeing the happy 
mother leave it for a few moments within the pavilion, I silently 
stole in, and taking the tiny form in my arms fled swift as an 
arrow out of the enclosure, and hurrying from the main road 
to an untraveled highway, entered a cab in waiting and was 
whirled far away. I sailed for America, and something led me 
to the village where Dr. Trevelyan resided — this young man’s 
father, and after a few week’s board at a house situated back in 
the mountains, occupied by a lonely old woman, I learned that 
an infant daughter of the Doctor’s, but a few days old, had died, 
and tiring of my little charge, I concluded they would naturally 


Virtue Reaps its Own Reward. 139 

take pity on its helplessness, and I left it one morning at the door. 
The babe wore a tiny golden cross, and a robe of India muslin 
marked with the name ‘Pearl.’ A short time after this I was 
married. We took up our abode in this haunted house, when 
a daughter was given us, after which my husband died, leaving 
me in loneliness with a small property. I kept strict watch of 
the child. Often heard of its welfare, and then, as fate would 
have it, the family, after the death of the Doctor’s wife, came to 
Moss Cottage, not far from here, making it their home. This 
circumstance permitted me to keep an eye over her. I met the 
old gardener’s wife twice in the berry field. First puzzling her 
by my strange words, then enjoining her to secresy, I told her 
that Pearl was not Claude’s sister, as he supposed, still leaving 
her in doubt and mystery. And once — I never can forget it — 
during a terriffic thunder storm, which caused them to seek my 
roof for shelter. Pearl Trevelyan and a friend entered these 
dingy doors. I was affected strangely, her features being so 
much like your own as to awaken memories bringing you be- 
fore me, until I feared I should go mad, thinking of the dreadful 
sin I had committed which had caused so much real and need- 
less sorrow. I knew your sweet wife was dead, and cursed 
myself, feeling the sin of murder as strongly on my conscience 
as though I had drawn a knife and let out her heart’s blood. 

“I often visited the city where Dr. Norton resided, knowing 
it was the home of your other idolized daughter. Fearing that 
as they grew up the two girls would meet, and by that means 
my guilt be found out; besides, fearing your return from India, 
I resolved, if in my power, to intercept letters sent to yourself 
as well as yours to them, which I did by bribing the post-boy 
with a considerable sum of money. In this way I learned to 
imitate the writing of Dr. Norton, and wrote that cruel lie of 
your daughter’s death, which you doubtless received, and which 
caused you to remain absent so long. 

“ One da}^ while in the city staying at a friend’s house, I visited 
the park and met the two girls arm in arm. ‘Together at last,’ 
I murmured, while their great family resemblance to each other 
caused me still greater uneasiness than before. I had no peace 


140 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


day nor night. You doubtless noticed a woman in black in the 
same car with yourself when you came to the city a few days 
ago, which was myself, but fearing to attract your attention I kept 
closely veiled, and entering a hack left your presence immedi- 
ately. In this way I happened to know of your arrival, which 
I am thankful for, as I could not die with this sin upon my 
conscience. Your portrait on the wall there, covered by that 
veil of silk, is one which an artist copied from a small picture 
of yourself given me years before I left your house. 

“ I wanted the young gentleman ” — pointing to Claude — “ that 
he might witness my confession and know that Pearl Trevelyan 
is not his sister, but the daughter of Mr. James Nellisse.” 

The young Doctor bowed assent, while she continued: 

“ It is too much to ask you to pardon, Mr. Nellisse, but my 
soul is somewhat relieved of its burden, and now you know 
that which has been wearing out my life for years.” 

They had heard her through, while each seemed too utterly 
confounded to speak; and the dying woman, waving her hand 
towards the door as though wishing them to retire, turned to 
her daughter, and while she was speaking her last words they 
walked silently out of the room, leaving the two in their would- 
be solitude, and hurriedly sought the open air. 

JThey concluded, after a few moments’ consultation, to go by 
the way of Moss Cottage, and after disclosing the secret to 
Pearl, they in company, would seek Dr. Norton’s, where a 
blessed reunion of three happy, loving hearts would take place. 
But on reaching Moss Cottage they were doomed to disappoint- 
ment, for Pearl was not there. She had gone down to Clara 
Lawson’s, they supposed. Mrs. Stanwick had arrived to attend 
Lottie, who was rapidly improving, and this was the first ot 
Pearl’s going out. So leaving Mr. Nellisse to be entertained by 
the good old gardener and his wife, Claude drove speedily to Mr. 
Lawson’s. Not there, they said, but Mrs. Lawson had seen 
her pass along quite early in the morning. Clara was absent at 
a friend’s. What could it mean? There must be something 
wrong, thought Claude, and starting his horse he hurried along 
the dusty road, on and on, scarcely realizing what he was doing. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 141 

only intent upon finding her to impart the tidings of her new re- 
lationship. 

It was moonlight now, and he was traveling on a lonely road, 
when beneath a projecting rock on the side of a hill, a short 
distance from the road, he espied something white gleaming in 
the moon’s rays. Stopping his horse and alighting, he cleared 
the rickety fence at a bound, and approaching the object found 
it to be the figure of a female, a white shawl thrown over her 
shoulders as a sort of protection. She was sleeping quietly, 
long golden curls, damp with the night dew, veiling her swan- 
like throat, while one white arm was thrown carelessly upward 
partially concealing her features. He removed it gently, his 
heart beating strangely, and there, in sweet repose, lay bonnie 
Pearl, where, weary and jaded out with her long walk, she had 
lain down to rest. 

“ What means this strange conduct, poor child,” he murmured, 
and kneeling by her side aroused her from sleep. 

“Where am I?” she asked, while the large violet eyes un- 
closed and stared wildly around. “ Oh, I thought I was at home. 
But no, I remember now, there’s no such word for me. And 
you — how came you here? Why did you seek me? You are 
not my brother!” 

“But how do you know this?” he inquired, beginning to sus- 
pect that Ellen had revealed to her Hortense Ravenna’s secret; 
and sitting there, the moonlight wrapping them round like a 
shroud, she told him how she came by the knowledge. 

“But where were you going?” 

“ Oh, any where, any where ; and you must . not hinder me. 
I am going, Claude, and all the powers of earth shall not stop me. 
You have no right — let me go,” she said wildly, starting up. 

“ But hush. Pearl, I have good news for you.” 

“Good news for me! No, no. It can not be. No good 
news for me in this world. It is too late, too late. I know 
what I am — a foundling, Claude. There is no more hope of 
any thing, except death, in my heart — let me go!” 

“ Pearl, dear, you are demented. Listen to me. Mr. Nellisse, 
the father of Grace, who has just returned from the Indies, has 


142 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


proved you his lost child, stolen during infancy by that strange, 
weird woman at the haunted house.” 

“This explains her strange words and manner,” said Pearl, 
the light of joy taking the place of the shadow of despair in 
her eyes. 

“Yes,” replied Claude, “and now you must return with me 
to the open arms of a father, dear Pearl, who is now waiting to 
receive you at Moss Cottage.” 

“ And Grace ? Grace is my sister ?” 

“Yes; and now let us hasten, for they will really become 
alarmed at my long absence ;” and suiting the action to the 
word they walked down the rough path, entered the carriage 
and were soon on the way to Moss Cottage, during which 
time Claude related the whole story, the revelation of his father 
as well as that of Hortense Ravenna, and why he had kept it 
a secret from her, but was now glad, as it had brought her so 
much happiness in the. midst of dark despair. 

She wept and laughed by turns, hardly knowing which to do 
in her wild joy that she had been rescued from the fate of a 
lonely, uncared-for wanderer on the earth; and Claude indeed 
rejoiced when he witnessed the happiness of the two as they 
met shortly after on the threshold, embracing with the true 
fervor of father and child. Thus does the blessed assurance 
that we are making others happy bring that peace and joy to 
ourselves which is true and lasting. 

The eyes of Mr. Nellisse were riveted on Pearl almost con- 
stantly during the time that passed before retiring, and as he re- 
marked, almost feared she would vanish, leaving only a beautiful 
dream. Her likeness to Grace was plain to be seen, though the 
face of his lost wife was pictured more plainly in the fine con- 
tour of Pearl’s features, and in the expression of her dark violet 
eyes. Much of the time she sat silent, for this strange, unex- 
pected happiness coming in the darkest hour of her life, was too 
deep for words; while Anthony and Ellen could hardly believe 
their own senses, to think Missy Pearl had really found her 
father, while that sweet young Miss Nellisse was her own sister. 
It was almost incredible. 


Virtue Reajys its Own Reward. 


143 


Mrs. Stanwick and Lottie, who in the morning, were ap- 
prised of the occurrence, could hardly realize that the wealthy 
Mr. Nellisse, the father of Grace, was the father of Pearl also; 
but Lottie was sincerely glad of her good fortune, while Mrs. 
Stanwick, who really appreciated the kindness shown by Pearl 
towards her daughter, heartily congratulated her, wishing them 
all many years of future happiness. At an early hour the two 
reached the house of Dr. Norton, when Grace, with a smiling 
face, came out to receive them. “Oh, papa, your prolonged 
absence startled me. I was told that you and Doctor Claude 
had gone out on a strange errand, but could learn no further par- 
ticulars. But who have we here?” — as Pearl raised her veil — 
“My dear friend. Pearl Trevelyan, and changed so much that I 
scarcely knew you.” “My little girl is mistaken,” said Mr. 
Nellisse, as they all sauntered into the house together. “Pearl 
Trevelyan no longer, but Pearl Nellisse, your only sister, and 
my long lost daughter.” A slight scream echoed through the 
hall, and throwing their arms around each other the two girls 
wept for joy, while the father looked on with unspeakable grat- 
itude burning in his heart, meanwhile mingling his tears with 
theirs, and Claude, standing by, was happy in witnessing the 
excessive joy of this family reunited. Then all seeking the 
library where Dr. Norton and his wife were seated. Pearl being 
introduced in her new character, as Mr. Nellisse’s daughter, 
all were impatient to hear the mystery explained. Mr. Nellisse 
related all, not omitting one particular. 

“A jubilee on that,” exclaimed Dr. Norton, as he concluded. 
“ Invitations shall be given out for the grandest entertainment 
ever held in this city. What do you say to that, wife?” 

“ I am perfectly agreeable and pleased to do so,” echoed the 
lady, smiling. 

“ Capital! capital! ” they exclaimed in concert, all highly elated 
with the prospect, except Pearl. A shadow of pain crossed 
her brow at the mere mention of it, for, as might be supposed, 
this house and its surroundings had again awakened memories 
of him she would fain forget. This alone was an impediment 
to her happiness — Paul Marshall’s absence.- No one knew of 


144 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


} 


his whereabouts; and now the question was, would he ever 
return again. Perhaps ere this he might be dead, or if alive, 
might never visit these scenes again, and without his priceless 
love, her bliss would be ever incomplete. 

Thus two weeks wore away, which was spent as a general 
merry-making among the little company, visiting friends, driv- 
ing, walking, reading and conversing, in which all joined but 
Claude, who was seldom at leisure, owing to the duties of his 
profession. Invitations had been sent out, and the grandest 
party of the season was soon to come oft'. The night proved 
one of rare beauty, for the moon bathed all nature in a veil of 
mystic silver; little breezes sighed and whispered among the 
ftowers, wafting their perfume to the guests within, where 
beauty and fashion prevailed, heightened by the bewildering 
spell which music cast over all as it pulsed softly forth on the 
perfumed air. Grace looked lovely in a dress of white over 
blue, her golden hair looped with pearls; but our little heroine, 
in a dress of spotless muslin, with no ornament save a knot of 
waxen fuchsias at her throat, and drooping among the folds of 
her hair, attracted every one present by her modest, unassuming 
attire, as well as her sweet, gentle demeanor. It was getting 
late, the refreshments had been served, and a few of the older 
ones had returned to their homes. • Pearl was growing weary 
of the gayety, and longed for a little quiet, so throwing a 
scarf over her shoulders she stole out among the shadows in 
the garden to dream. Such gay scenes always brought Paul 
Marshall more vividly to her mind. The crowd of bright and 
smiling faces, of hearts so free from care and sorrow, so differ- 
ent from her own, made her long yet more for the perfect bliss 
they seemed to enjoy; but there was a vacancy, a desolate spot 
in her heart, and only Paul Marshall — noble, handsome Paul 
Marshall, could ever supply that place. She was thinking of 
that day, so long, long ago, when he sought her in the picture 
gallery, and of the earnestness of his beautiful eyes when he 
spoke those bewildering words of love. But it was all useless, 
this dreaming. Why did she indulge in it.^ 

Just then the shrill whistle of the night train rent the still 


Virtue Reaj>s its Own Reward. 


145 


air, bringing her back to the reality of the present. She heard 
them, one by one, departing, still she could not rise to go in, 
Something seemed to chain her to the spot. She fell into dream- 
ing again, when a step, short and quick,* arrested her attention, 
and looking up she saw a tall and well-formed gentleman enter 
the house. An unusual tumult ensued, and while she wondered 
what stranger had arrived at that late hour, a strange thrill 
passed through her frame, while she seemed unable to rise 
from her seat. She leaned forward, gathered a sprig of south- 
ern-wood, carelessly pulling it to pieces and scattering it on the 
ground at her feet, when a step sounded again, and a manly 
form stood beside her. 

“Pearl! Pearl! can this be my darling Pearl?” 

Ah! that voice — an echo from the past — she could not mis- 
take, and with a glad cry she was clasped in the arms of Paul 
Marshall. 

“ Returned at last, only to find you my love, and make you 
still my own.” 

“ But you thought me untrue,” she faltered. 

“Yes, God forgive me, I did, though every evil influence 
worked together to make me believe so. A letter from Charles, 
stating the confession of that wicked girl, Lottie Stanwick, has 
brought me to your side. When I left here heart-broken, believ- 
ing you untrue, I was hardly able to withstand seeking your 
presence, but my pride alone kept me from so doing. I visited 

L where I hoped to see Charles that I might learn more 

about it, and perhaps be reconciled. He was not there, as you 
know, so I embarked for Europe on the next steamer, and wan- 
dered away over the world, wandered I cared not whither, contin- 
ually roving, fearing to settle at any place lest solitude should 
bring madness, the vision of a little golden-haired fairy always 
floating before me, which, though I supposed false, I worshiped 
wildly, worshiped until I could endure life no longer without 
at least hearing whether you were still alive. So believing it 
the surest way of hearing the truth, I wrote to Charles, but 
a few weeks ago, of my whereabouts, thank God! and soon 
received an answer which brought me new life and a determi- 

19 


146 


Pearl Trevelyan; or^ 


nation to come and claim my lost Pearl. I seemed like one 
awakened from the dead, and how often I wished for wings, 
for the journey seemed so long; but I am here, here by your 
side, my darling, at last, where for the first time in years Paul 
Marshall finds peace and rest. Oh, oh! the bliss of Heaven 
cannot be greater than this!” and tears of joy fell like drops 
of dew from his eyes down among her golden curls upon his 
breast, while she wept that night her happiest tears. 

“ I did not expect to find you here, but intended visiting Moss 
Cottage in the early morn. Grace, in a few words, told me of 
her father’s return, of your new relationship to them, for which 
I am truly thankful, and hope to hear the particulars at no dis- 
tant day. She told me, too, you were out here among the flow- 
ers, and offered to go and bring you to me, but I preferred seek- 
ing sweet Pearl m^^self, where no other eye but God’s would 
behold our bliss, for the influence which has ever been around 
me since my day at Moss Cottage, and the affliction I have 
passed through, has taught me to trust in a stronger arm than 
my own, my darling, one on which we will lean while together 
traveling the rosy path of life.” 

“ My heart goes out in inexpressible gratitude to God for all 
this great bliss,” said Pearl, and then in turn she told him of her 
own trials during his absence, while he wept again and again in 
sympathy, vowing that nothing should part them again. He 
would rather die then and there, at her feet, but their trust 
should be in God; He would be merciful ever. 

So we will leave them in their happiness, and once more 
return to Claude, who was in his room, restlessly walking to and 
fro. He was thinking of Grace. He could endure this sus- 
pense no longer — he must speak. He was meeting with great 
success in practice. Besides, in many ways, she had plainly 
expressed her regards for him, while he had not forgotten that 
her father had said he would grant him any favor in his power. 
He had restored to him one daughter, and had he not the right to 
claim the other? He was almost certain of his consent. So 
stepping out into the hall, and seeking the window, where the 
moonlight fell in a broad, pale sheet, he saw the last guest depart. 


Virtue Reafs its Own Reward. 


147 


and stood awaiting Grace Nellisse. She soon came tripping 
along, and seeing his form near the window, almost shrieked ix 

“Oh, you naughty boy, to frighten me so,” she exclaimed, 
pausing by his side, and glancing out upon the stars and round 
moon. 

“ It was not my intention, I assure you, but I have something 
I would say. You may think I am presuming too much, dear 
Grace, but I must know my fate to-night. Grace! Grace! my 
darling, I love you; can you, do you love me well enough to be 
my wife? There are others, I know, far worthier, others who 
are ” 

“ Stop ! stop Claude, you are worthy ; yes, yes, far too noble 
and good for a poor, little silly thing like me, and I love you — 
love you, yes, well enough to be your wife,” she responded, her 
fair head drooping, while Claude thought he saw a diamond tear 
fall among the filmy folds of white enveloping her, and, for the 
first time, clasping her in his arms, he exclaimed: 

“ Thank God for this unexpected, undeserved happiness, this 
great gift of your love.” 

The consent of the father was readily granted to the young 
pair the succeeding day, the happiness of a parent’s blessing 
adding to their own great joy in each others love. 

Pearl was made happier, if possible, in the receipt of a letter 
from the Trevelyans, in which, from each member of the family, 
her pardon was sincerely solicited for accusing her wrongfully. 
She immediately replied that all should be forgiven and forgot- 
ten ; also sending an invitation to the wedding of Claude and 

Grace, herself and , who they might guess, adding that 

Charles had better avail himself of the opportunity, and cele- 
brate his nuptials at the same time. 

Accordingly, on the appointed day, the Trevelyans arrived, 
accompanied by Clara, Charles playfully saying as they entered: 

“You see I fully agreed with you. Pearl. I suppose it will 
be none the less joyful to celebrate three weddings than two?” 

“No, no,” all echoed in concert, and Anthony and Ellen, who, 
accepting the invitation of Pearl, came up a few moments after 


148 


Pearl Trevelyan. 


with old Dobbin, thought they had never seen so many bright 
and happy faces together since their own joyful marriage-day. 

A stately mansion, which rears itself almost above the trees 
in Moss Glen, is the home of Paul Marshall and his bonnie bride. 
Pearl; while Claude and Grace have an elegant town resi- 
dence, near the home of Dr. Norton. Mr. Nellisse has returned 
from the Indies, where he repaired in order to entirely close up 
his business, and now spends his time alternately with his two 
loved and loving daughters. Charles and Clara have a home- 
nest close by the Marshall mansion. Anthony and Ellen still 
occupy Moss Cottage. 


THE END. 





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